


The Squire of Dragonstone

by EmynIthilien



Series: The Squire of Dragonstone [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: A Game of Thrones AU, Community: got_exchange, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Mentor/Protégé
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-30 03:52:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3921901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmynIthilien/pseuds/EmynIthilien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of joining the Night’s Watch, Jon travels south to squire for Stannis on Dragonstone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Winterfell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [linndechir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/gifts).



> This story follows established canon with two main exceptions: Stannis travels with Robert to Winterfell, and Ned refuses Robert’s request to be Hand of the King.
> 
> As well, this story was originally written for the wonderful linndechir, one of the biggest Stannis fans out there ;). 
> 
> -[Dinara](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dinara/pseuds') here on AO3 has begun to translate this story into into Russian. You can find her Russian translation [HERE](https://ficbook.net/readfic/3198544).
> 
> -Francophones! [Anna Taure](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/280770/Anna-Taure) a commencé à traduire cette histoire en français! Vous pouvez trouver sa traduction française, [L'Ecuyer de Peyredragon](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11489936/1/L-Ecuyer-de-Peyredragon), à fanfiction.net.

“Friendship—my definition—is built on two things…Respect and trust. Both elements have to be there. And it has to be mutual. You can have respect for someone, but if you don’t have trust, the friendship will crumble.”

Mikael Blomkvist from Steig Larsson’s _The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo_

 

I. Winterfell

Stannis despised hunts. At least those that involved Robert, for Robert had always jumped at the opportunity to best Stannis in anything that involved more killing than common sense. Robert relished galloping after hounds in hot pursuit and delivering the killing blow to some hapless beast. Also, whenever Robert’s whims told him to bring his hawks along, a mention and derisive laugh about the long-dead goshawk Proudwing was always to be counted upon.

Yes, Stannis very much despised hunts.

 _Yet I suffer them all the same._ Robert wished to spend his last night in Winterfell feasting on wild boar, so everyone who was anyone in the royal party had saddled his horse by dawn to follow their king and Lord Stark to the Wolfswood. Even the Lannister dwarf came along, looking utterly absurd on a fine destrier with a shortsword strapped to his waist. Stannis found himself riding next to Stark, who seemed to be enjoying the hunt as much as himself if the serious and troubled expression on his face was anything to go by.

 _Why am I in the North again?_ Jon Arryn hadn’t been dead a day before Robert announced that he was gallivanting off to Winterfell to make dutiful, _honorable_ Ned Stark his next Hand of the King. Stark was going to fix everything! The crown’s debts, the scheming Lannisters, the Targaryen children across the Narrow Sea…Stark would take care of it all! No matter that the Lord of Winterfell hadn’t been to King’s Landing since the Rebellion and rarely involved himself in affairs below the Neck. Naturally, Stannis planned to immediately remove himself to Dragonstone, knowing Lord Arryn’s death had been not been the result of old age. _It’s no coincidence that he died a fortnight before telling Robert about Cersei and Jaime Lannister’s incest, and the incestuous bastards formed from their unions._

But Stannis was stopped by Robert before he could board his ship. His presence was required on the trip to Winterfell! Oh yes, Robert had _commanded_ it, claiming that he wanted to be surrounded by family that had no connection to the name Lannister. So, being a dutiful lord and loyal brother, Stannis had acquiesced. Albeit grudgingly.

Stark had barely said a word all morning. Robert either didn’t notice or didn’t care, laughing and joking about the good times the pair was sure to have in King’s Landing. Life would be as carefree as it was in the Eyrie, with the minor exception that Lord Arryn wasn’t there to watch over them. Stannis refrained from saying anything, focusing determinedly on his horse and the woods around him.

“…and then the tourney that will be held in your honor! Knights from all over the South will come for the glory, wanting…” Robert stopped, reaching out to give Stark’s shoulder a jovial squeeze. “Something’s been eating at you all morning, Ned. You’re as serious as Stannis, and your face is as frozen as the statues in your crypts!”

Stark sighed, turning back to Robert with a weak smile. “I simply have a lot on my mind, Your Grace. Travelling to King’s Landing and taking up the responsibilities of Hand are no laughing matter. I’ll be away from most of my family for who knows how long.”

“I envy you, Ned. If only I could leave Cersei and never see her again.”

“But she’s the mother of your children,” replied Stark, confused.

Stannis clenched his hands around his reins as Robert said: “She’s beautiful, aye, but colder than the Wall. She’s no Catelyn. Enough about her! Your daughters will enjoy court.”

“Sansa’s been walking around with a smile on her face for weeks, I’ll grant you that. Arya not so much. Bran keeps asking me when he’ll be able to meet Ser Barristan, and Robb will do his duty well as the Stark in Winterfell. Jon…” Stark sighed again. “I fear Jon is making a foolish decision, but I haven’t the heart to stop him.”

“Does he want to marry some comely wench?” said Robert with a grin.

Stark’s eyes grew wide. “Marry? He’s only fourteen!”

“I remember what I was like at fourteen! So carefree!” came Robert’s wistful reply.

 _Yes,_ thought Stannis, _your life was even more carefree before we saw our parents drown, helpless to do anything about it._

Stark shook his head, still staring at Robert. “Jon wishes to join the Night’s Watch. If he had come to me as a man, I would’ve given him my blessing, but he’s only a boy and experienced and seen so little of the world. I worry that he’ll come to regret his choice, and by then he’ll be bound by vows never to leave the Wall.”

“ _That’s_ what has gotten you worried, old friend?” Robert laughed. “Surely you can convince him of something else! Send him as a ward with one of your bannermen, for bastard born or no, they should take it as an honor to foster one of Lord Stark’s sons!”

Stark shrugged. “I had hoped for Jon to stay at Winterfell with Robb, but Catelyn is insistent that he be gone. Like she always has.”

“Like I said, you shouldn’t worry so, Ned!” Robert looked over Stark to Stannis, and his face lit up. “Forget about fostering him with one of your lords, send him to squire for Stannis!”

Stannis ground his teeth, willing for Robert to stop speaking and become distracted by something else. _Haven’t those hounds scented a boar yet?_ Unfortunately, Robert continued on, having decided that his solution was beyond brilliant.

“He’ll get to see King’s Landing and learn all about the pleasures found in the South! Let him fuck a girl and learn what it’s like to be _warm_ for once in his life—gods know that would do you a world of good. Besides, Stannis doesn’t have any sons of his own. Perhaps the presence of a young man on his miserable island will finally show him the way to his wife’s bed!”

Stannis clenched his reins even harder, though for an entirely different reason than before. His horse shook its head, agitated, but Stannis didn’t notice the animal’s discomfort until it suddenly reared on its hind legs and nearly threw him off. _That_ caused Robert to shut up, and Stark was looking between them with an expression half surprise and half sympathy. Stannis swore as he regained control of his horse, deciding then and there that he was done with the hunt.

“Lord Stark,” Stannis began, inclining his head. “My apologies, but I must return to the castle as my horse has injured its foot.”

“By all means, Lord Stannis,” replied Stark after a long pause, with an equally formal nod of his head.

Stannis turned his horse around and galloped away before Robert could say anything more, ignoring the bewildered looks given to him by the rest of the hunting party. Stark could likely see through his flimsy excuse, for Stannis’ horse wasn’t injured, at least not that he could tell. _I will not subject myself to Robert’s ridicule, propriety be damned. For all that I’ve done for Robert, the least he can do is show me a small measure of respect!_

Upon reaching Winterfell, Stannis rode through the main gate and handed his horse to a confused looking groom in the stables. As an afterthought, Stannis requested that the horse be checked for injuries, lest anyone apart from Stark and Robert inquire after his sudden departure from the hunting party. He needed time to think, to _think_ and get his emotions in check, emotions that had been frayed ever since Jon Arryn had drawn his last breath. Many men in Stannis’ situation would’ve headed straight for a tavern or whorehouse or even a sept—but Stannis had always despised drinking, avoided whores, and stayed clear of robed fools prattling on and on about the goodness of gods who likely didn’t exist to begin with.

Ultimately, Stannis made his way to Winterfell’s godswood. It was always a peaceful place, so silent that a man could hear the wind rustling through the trees and leaves falling softly to the ground. It was almost as soothing as the sound of the sea, especially the sound of the waves crashing onto the rocks below Storm’s End.

Silence…Stannis had almost made it to the heart tree and the warm pool beneath it when he heard laughter followed by a series of splashes. He was not the only one to seek out the solace of the godswood, apparently. When Stannis saw the source of the laughter, careful to keep himself hidden behind some young weirwoods, he stifled a groan. Two direwolf pups, one grey and one white, chased each other around the pool while their masters sat skipping rocks. The girl was wearing a grey dress with a liberal amount of mud splattered all over the hem, and her dark brown hair was done in a long braid that had long since come undone. _Arya, that’s the girl’s name, the Stark daughter who always runs around with dirty dresses and messy hair. She won’t enjoy the court at King’s Landing, much as Stark insinuated._ I _can barely stand it._ The young man next to her had the same dark hair, and Stannis only had to take one glance at his face to know who he was.

 _I ride away from Robert’s insults brought about by Jon Snow only to come face to face with him._ Stannis had never personally spoken with the boy, but there was no mistaking how much he resembled Ned Stark in both looks and manner. In fact, Jon was the only one of Stark’s sons to share his look. _Rather like Robert and his bastards_ , but from what Stannis had seen of Lord and Lady Stark, he rather doubted that Lady Stark was cuckolding her husband. The Starks had done their best to hide Jon away during the visit, from not presenting him at the welcoming feast to forbidding him from the practice yard when Cersei’s children and the Kingsguard were present.

Stannis watched Jon reach out a hand to ruffle his sister’s hair, to her obvious delight. The longer Stannis looked at Jon, the more he saw Ned Stark, the man Robert had professed again and _again_ to be the true brother he always wanted but never had. What did it matter if the boy wanted to join the Night’s Watch? Ned Stark’s own brother had taken the Black, and Benjen Stark seemed as satisfied with his life as any man. Just as there had always been a Stark in Winterfell, Stannis was willing to bet that there had always been a Stark on the Wall, true or bastard born. _If the Wall is his choice, let him make it and face the consequences._

Stannis decided to stay and watch the pair, having nothing else better to do and no desire to be around anyone still in the castle.

Arya was trying to make stones skip across the pool, but not having the same success as her brother, she tossed the whole pile of stones she had collected straight into the water. Her brother raised his eyebrows.

“It’s not fair! I can ride as well as Robb, yet I’m not allowed on the hunt!”

“It’s not about riding, little sister,” said Jon, reaching out to ruffle her hair again. “Royal hunts aren’t the place for girls, especially she-wolves.”

“Are you mad that you’re not on the hunt right now?”

“Me? And miss spending time with Prince Joffrey?”

“Sansa says that you’re jealous of him.”

Jon gave a snort. “Of course _Sansa_ would say that. She thinks he’s her Florian from the songs. I stand by what I told you before: Joffrey is truly a little shit.”

The grey wolf pup barked in response, and the white one twitched its ears as if he could understand exactly what was being said.

“See? Even Nymeria agrees with me! Ghost would too if only he could howl.”

 _He’s not wrong_ , mused Stannis. Jon and Arya continued in the same manner for quite some time, and Stannis was surprised by the easy rapport between the two. _If only things had been this easy between Robert and I, or even with Renly._ Stannis watched as Arya jumped up and grabbed a stick, adopting what she probably thought was a warrior’s stance.

“I’m Queen Nymeria of the Rhoyne!”

Jon followed suit, raising a stick of his own. “I’m the Young Dragon, King Daeron Targaryen!”

Arya was clearly outmatched, though Jon did his best to pretend that it was a fair fight. He grinned like a fool as Arya determinedly tried to hit him with her stick. The wolves followed the fight, and after a time the grey wolf jumped and grabbed Jon’s stick, causing him to bow to his sister in defeat.

“It seems like I’m no match for Nymeria, whether queen or wolf.”

_If only Shireen had a brother or a friend like Jon. With her scared face and quiet manner, she fits in with others as much as Arya with her muddy clothes and swordfights. Patchface is far from an ideal companion, and Davos’ sons are too formal with her. Not that I blame them._

Stannis sighed and started making his way back to the castle. If Robert hadn’t speared a boar by now, he’d likely convinced Stark to send Jon off to Dragonstone with Stannis, for once Robert got an idea stuck in his mind he rarely let it go. Perhaps the idea wasn’t such a terrible one. Stannis had agreed to foster Jon Arryn’s only son and heir, after all, before Lysa Arryn and little Robert had fled to the Eyrie. Ned Stark was no friend like Lord Arryn had been, but he was a good man who always did his duty and took responsibility for his actions—such as acknowledging his bastard and seeing Jon educated to the same extent as his heir. The boy didn’t seem a bad sort, if how he talked and played with his sister was any indication.

His mind made up, Stannis resolved to talk with Ned Stark once the hunting party returned. _If Jon Snow is to squire for me, it will be on my terms rather than Robert’s._

~

Jon was currently sitting in Winterfell’s main courtyard, Ghost silently at his side. The whole castle had been in a somber mood since Bran’s fall, and the king’s departure back to King’s Landing had been delayed indefinitely. Jon was still trying to work up the courage to visit Bran on his sickbed, for Lady Stark hadn’t left her son’s side in days. _Bran’s still your brother, no matter what Lady Stark might wish. And I’ll soon be facing greater dangers than Catelyn Stark._

Jon was anxious to get to the Wall. Like the king, Benjen Stark had delayed departing Winterfell. Jon assumed that he was to go with him, as father hadn’t openly denied his request to take the Black. But father hadn’t given his blessing either, something Jon desperately wished for. A nod and a smile from the man he admired most was all Jon needed to feel certain that he was making the right choice. _For what other options do I have? I have no inheritance, and baseborn children are despised and distrusted all across Westeros. A bastard might never be the Lord of Winterfell, but he can rise to be Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch._

“Jon!” A voice from behind broke Jon out of his reverie. He turned his head to see Jory, his father’s Captain of the Guard, smiling down at him.

“Hello, Jory. Do you need my help with anything?”

“No, but Lord Stark wishes to see you in his solar.”

“He does?” asked Jon, his mood lightening. Father had spent the better part of the last few days at Bran’s bedside and, strangely, arguing with King Robert. _Perhaps now he’ll give me his blessing to go to the Wall._

“Straight away, if you can,” replied Jory.

Jon got to his feet, straightening his tunic and brushing off his leggings. Ghost made to follow him, but Jon commanded him to stay. “Go play with your brothers and sisters,” he said, ruffling the direwolf’s white fur. Jon took the stairs leading up to his father’s solar two at a time, and was bid to enter the room at first knock. However, he immediately sensed that this meeting would not be about what he wished it to be.

For father was not alone.

Father was sitting in his usual chair behind his desk, hands folded calmly in front of him. Next to him was Lord Stannis, sitting straight backed in a hard wooden chair, arms crossed and mouth set in a thin line. His dark blue eyes were hard as they stared at him intently, following Jon’s every move. Jon was puzzled at the presence of King Robert’s brother, for he had never spoken with him or had any reason to interact with him. Jon _had_ observed that Stannis mostly kept to himself and enjoyed the feasts and revelry held in the king’s honor even less than Queen Cersei. 

“Father, Lord Stannis,” greeted Jon with a stiff bow.

“Sit down, son,” said his father warmly, gesturing to an empty chair in front of the desk. Lord Stannis didn’t say a word, and his stern expression didn’t change.

“I called you here to discuss your wish to join the Night’s Watch,” began father.

Jon waited.

“The Night’s Watch is an honorable calling, but even your Uncle Benjen had seen more namedays than you before swearing his vows. I want you to experience more from life before going to the Wall, and as Lord of Winterfell I _do_ have the means for you to explore other paths.”

Jon fought to keep his face straight, for it wouldn’t do to let his disappointment show.

“So you’re forbidding me to go to the Wall, then?”

“No,” said father, his lord’s face now in place. “I would never forbid a man such a thing. But I _am_ advising you against going there right now.”

When Jon didn’t reply right away, Lord Stark softened his face back to father’s. “The Wall will always be there, son.”

“That’s the same thing that Uncle Benjen said,” said Jon dejectedly, looking at his boots.

“He’s right.”

“What shall I do, then? What…” _How did father word it?_ “What other paths would you have me take?”

“Another option has presented itself, one that I suggest you seriously consider.”

“Get on with it, Lord Stark,” said Stannis impatiently. Jon had almost forgotten that the lord was in the room. Father glanced at Stannis with his eyebrows raised, but there was no trace of irritation in his expression.

“Lord Stannis has agreed to foster you on Dragonstone, where you will also serve as his squire. I have many fond memories of my years in the Eyrie under the care of Lord Jon Arryn, who taught me how to be a just and honorable ruler. You can learn much from Lord Stannis, and perhaps many years from now, when you’ve proven yourself worthy, he’ll grant you a knighthood.”

Jon stared at both men, thrown off by his father’s words. The situation was entirely unexpected, and he didn’t quite know how to respond. True, father had presented going to Dragonstone as a _choice_ , but Jon wasn’t naïve enough to believe that he actually had one.

 _There’s no way that I can politely refuse this. Stannis Baratheon isn’t some lowly hedge knight, but one of the most powerful lords of the realm with a seat on the Small Council. Not to mention a renowned battle commander and King Robert’s own brother._ Jon wondered how father had convinced Stannis, for he had gotten the impression that Stannis didn’t care for father at all, despite them always acting civil toward each other. What honor was there in a high lord taking a bastard as a squire? Still, the prospect of a knighthood…

“May I take my direwolf with me?” Jon didn’t know what compelled him to ask _that_ question among all the others spinning about in his mind, but he did know that wherever he went it was necessary that Ghost come with him.

Father didn’t say anything and looked to Stannis, who shrugged. “I don’t see why not. However, the wolf will be _your_ responsibility. You will be responsible for feeding and seeing to its welfare, and if it harms someone I expect you to deal with it like any man would a rabid hound.”

 _That’s fair enough._ Stannis’ conditions were much the same as those that father had laid out the day Jon, Robb, and Bran had found the direwolf pups. 

Jon bit his lip, looking between father and Stannis. There really wasn’t much else for him to say. He knew that he should feel honored, but he hadn’t quite gotten over his shock at father not allowing him to go to the Wall. Uncle Benjen and the Night’s Watch had been in his thoughts for months. Jon took a deep breath and met Stannis’ eyes. “I accept your offer, Lord Stannis. I thank you for your generosity, and I promise that you won’t come to regret it.”

“That’s settled then,” responded Stannis, waving away Jon’s words and rising from his chair.

Jon turned to address father. “Will I be traveling to King’s Landing with you then, father?”

“No. I have decided against becoming the next Hand of the King.”

 _That_ was certainly news to Jon, but he immediately saw that his surprise was nowhere near that of Stannis’, given the stunned and incredulous expression that suddenly appeared on the lord’s face.

“You can’t be serious, Lord Stark.”

“You’d be surprised at what I can and can’t be, Lord Stannis.”

Stannis sat back down, shaking his head and letting out a harsh laugh.

“You haven’t told Robert.”

Father frowned. “Not officially, but I have expressed my doubts to him since my son’s accident.”

Stannis continued to laugh, and Jon was rather disturbed by the sound. “To say he’ll be unhappy is an understatement.”

“Robert asked me to be his Hand, he didn’t _command_ me.”

“Our noble king has never learned the fine distinction between _ask_ and _command_.”

“Winterfell is my home, and my duty is to the North,” said father resolutely. “The South has not been kind to my family and I, and one of my sons may not live to see the morrow. There is unrest beyond the Wall, where my brother Benjen believes something sinister is stirring. As well…” he paused, looking over to Jon, “there have been disturbing signs. Have you heard the story about how my children came to have direwolf pups, Lord Stannis?”

Stannis shook his head. “No, but by all means humor me.”

“The mother direwolf had killed a stag, but the stag had repaid her with an antler through the throat. Her pups, four male and two female, same as the children I raised, were abandoned. I fear that something similar might happen if I go south as Hand of the King, and that the Old Gods are trying to warn me.”

Jon had never thought about the direwolf pups in such away. No doubt his father was speaking in earnest about the Old Gods, and it got him to wonder if there was anything significant about Ghost being found separate from his siblings, making his own way alone…Stannis had momentarily closed his eyes, incredulous expression still intact. He muttered something under his breath in a derisive tone that sounded suspiciously like _the gods._

“Can you understand my reasoning?” continued father.

“Well enough,” replied Stannis, but it seemed to Jon that he thought father had gone slightly insane. “But it isn’t me you need to convince, Lord Stark. It matters—” there was a slight pause, “— _not_ to me if you choose to be Hand or to chase snarks and grumkins at the Wall. Be thankful for guest right, or else Robert would likely call for your head to be put on a spike.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter I
> 
> Stannis planning to foster Robert Arryn _was_ canon, as confirmed by multiple sources in AGOT and ACOK. The most amusing is below, and it’s safe to say that it was probably better for all parties involved that such a thing did not take place.
> 
> “Lord Arryn said [Robert Arryn] was going to Dragonstone to foster with Stannis Baratheon….”
> 
> Catelyn frowned, disquieted. “I had understood that Lysa’s boy was to be fostered with Lord Tywin at Casterly Rock.”
> 
> “No, it was Lord Stannis,” Walder Frey said irritably. “Do you think I can’t tell Lord Stannis form Lord Tywin? They’re both bungholes who think they’re too noble to shit, but never mind about that, I know the difference.”
> 
> Walder Frey and Catelyn Stark, _A Game of Thrones_ Catelyn IX


	2. Rules and Laws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stannis lays down ground rules and shows Jon how he conducts justice.

As the last of Winterfell’s towers faded into the distance, Stannis gave a sigh of relief. He was finally on his way south, leaving stoic Lord Eddard Stark to his land of summer snows and undead creatures beyond the Wall. Oh yes, undead, mythical _Others_ were the reason Stark had given Robert for refusing the title of Hand of the King. The shouting match between the two men when Stark had broken the news could be heard all over Winterfell, and Stannis reckoned the words _Damn you, Ned Stark!_ would be ringing in his ears for quite some time.

Stannis hadn’t been lying when he’d told Stark that he didn’t care if the man chose to be Hand or not. Perhaps a small part of him had been pleased at Stark’s refusal, but only because Robert got to learn the hard way that Stark couldn’t be relied upon for anything and everything. Stannis wondered if Robert, smarting from Stark’s rejection, would appoint _him_ the next Hand. After all, Stannis and Jon Arryn had practically run the kingdom for the past fifteen years while Robert warred, whored, and drank away the memory of Lyanna Stark. Naturally, that was not to be as Robert promptly sent a raven to their grandfather, Lord Estermont. _How bad could he be? At least Robert didn’t give the honor to Mace Tyrell or Tywin Lannister. Or Renly, gods forbid._

When the Kingsroad crossed the White Knife, Stannis and his small party broke off from the king’s unwieldy one and turned southeast. There was a matter of the king’s justice that needed to be taken care of on the Three Sisters, and Ser Davos had already sent word that Stannis’ ship _Fury_ was safely in port at White Harbor. A tedious matter, but it was just the opening Stannis needed to leave Robert and Cersei and their retainers behind. As well, it would be a good opportunity to show the boy how he conducted justice. Following the letter of the law in the name of the king, of course.

Jon Snow was riding silently next to him, looking as much like Ned Stark as ever. His white direwolf was nowhere to be seen, having scampered off into the woods. Stannis was impressed in spite of himself at how _well_ the wolf was trained. It obeyed its master as if by instinct and was, most importantly, never a bother. Robert had been beside himself with delight when he’d gotten word of Stannis taking Stark’s bastard as a squire, though Stannis neglected to tell his brother that he had personally asked Stark when all was said and done. _If Robert wants to believe that Stark forced me to take his bastard off of his hands, there’s no harm in it. It will do him good to think that he still has some power over Stark._

The white wolf reappeared, its muzzle red from a fresh kill. Jon smiled down at it.

“Still hungry, Ghost? Next time try and find something larger than a hare.”

_He’s just guessing. There’s no way he can know what the wolf was eating._

“Jon,” stated Stannis. _Thank the gods that Stark only named one of his sons after Robert._

“Yes, my lord?”

“I am aware that Eddard Stark has told you his expectations for you and your conduct while in the South under my…care. All that you say and do will not only reflect upon you but upon your father and House Stark. I have my own set of expectations that needs to be made clear.”

Jon met his eyes, waiting for Stannis to continue.

“I expect you to obey me as you would your father and lords of similar station. You will show my family and everyone else in my household respect, regardless of name or station. Most importantly, there are two rules that you _will_ follow—disregard them and I will send you back to Winterfell immediately.”

Jon cocked his head, now listening more intently. _All the better for him._

“First, I do not abide drunkenness. I cannot stop you from having a glass of wine with dinner or visiting a tavern, but you will _never_ appear drunk in my presence. Drink dulls men’s senses and makes them do irrational and illogical things. Second and most importantly, you will _not_ whore. I have outlawed such establishments on Dragonstone, but that doesn’t mean all the whores have washed away into the sea.”

The boy’s eyes had widened, and he was looking at Stannis warily. Stannis felt no more need to explain himself. His rules were fair.

“Do you understand me, Jon Snow?”

Instead of a direct reply, Jon mumbled something under him breath and fiddled with his reins.

“What did you say, boy?” asked Stannis sharply. “You have an objection?”

“No, my lord, none at all,” said Jon, shaking his head vehemently as if in apology. “It will be no challenge at all to follow your commands, the latter especially. I promised myself long ago that I would _never_ father a bastard, nor put myself in such a situation. I do not wish to make the same mistakes as my father, for his actions hurt more than just himself.”

Jon’s voice was bitter, particularly when mentioning Ned Stark and the _dutiful_ lord’s mistakes. His shame of being a bastard seemed deeply internalized, which Stannis found interesting. Stannis wasn’t fool enough to believe that all bastards were wanton, treacherous, and full of lies, but from his experience they _did_ have their pride. Ser Rolland Storm always enjoyed being called the Bastard of Nightsong, and little Edric Storm was quick to remind everyone that he was the son of a king. The rest of Robert’s bastards…well, they were thankfully ignorant of their father’s name.

And speaking of bastards…He needed to decide what to do about the Lannister abominations masquerading as princes and princess of the realm. Winterfell hadn’t been the time to tell Robert, for if his brother hadn’t laughed himself to death, Cersei and Jaime would be locked inside the castle while Tywin Lannister marched on and sacked King’s Landing. Stannis had considered taking Ned Stark into his confidences about the matter, given the man’s genuine interest into the cause of Jon Arryn’s death—and the fact that Robert genuinely loved Stark. But Robert had monopolized Stark the entire visit, there was Bran Stark’s fall, and then the matter of taking on Jon as a squire…the timing had never been right. Deliberate planning was needed, and Stannis believed that time was on his side for once. Joffrey was only twelve, and the Lannisters would never dare to make a move on Robert until the haughty, cruel boy had reached his majority. 

He realized that Jon was still staring at him, anxiously waiting for his reply. _No, I don’t fault his words at all. I only hope his actions match the morals he professes to have._

Stannis met Jon’s eyes and nodded.

~

Jon learned quickly that Stannis wasn’t one for small talk. It was close to a week since he had left Winterfell and his childhood behind, and he had yet to hear the Lord of Dragonstone truly laugh. Or see him smile. Jon had racked his brain to remember if he’d _ever_ seen Stannis smile and come up with nothing.

Perhaps Stannis liked silence so he could think. Jon certainly had plenty of time with his own thoughts, and he kept replaying his last morning in Winterfell over and over again. Bran was still as still as a corpse, but at least he lived. Lady Stark wished things were different, naturally, and it had taken a great amount of will for Jon to push her last words to him into the recesses of his mind and not dwell on them. Arya had been overjoyed with her new Needle, and the kisses she had showered on him were likely the last he would receive from any girl if he was to abide by Stannis’ rules. Jon had no doubt that Stannis was serious about his intolerance for drinking and whoring, and he had no desire to test him.

Robb and father had seen him off in Winterfell’s courtyard. Robb had had snowflakes melting in his auburn hair, and Grey Wind had whined sadly.

_“Next time I see you, you’ll have a ‘Ser’ in front of your name!”_

_“Nothing’s certain.”_

_“Well, while you’re having adventures in the South, I’ll be in Winterfell learning how to be Lord Stark. As always.”_

Father had presented Jon with a well-made grey cloak lined with white fur. It was still summer, but no Stark should ever forget that winter is coming.

_“You’re a Stark, Jon, no matter what name you have or could have had,” said father before giving him a fierce hug._

_Jon dearly wanted to ask about his mother then and there, but father was looking to Lord Stannis, who was ready to ride out the gates with his own knights._

_“Some words of advice, Jon,” cautioned father, hands firmly on his shoulders. “Lord Stannis is utterly unlike King Robert, both in demeanor and character.”_

_“Does that mean you dislike him, then, since you hold the king in such high esteem?”_

_Father shook his head. “I would not be sending you south if I did not trust and respect him. However…how should I put this? Stannis Baratheon is a just man, but just and harsh. You would do well to obey him.”_

Just and harsh. Jon wondered how long it would take him to understand exactly what father had meant about Stannis. In the meantime, Jon found the two knights Stannis had personally brought to Winterfell agreeable enough. Both Ser Andrew Estermont and Ser Rolland Storm were serious men, but whether that was due to them serving Stannis or their true natures Jon had yet to find out. He liked Ser Rolland from the start, and on their first meeting Jon had tentatively asked about his name.

“Storm?”

Ser Rolland grinned. “Storm means the same thing in the Stormlands as Snow means here in the North. I’m the Bastard of Nightsong, though my brother Bryce wishes that I wouldn’t call myself that. I used to envy him, but not now. He’s stuck being Lord Carron, whereas I get to travel Westeros as a knight.”

“My brother Robb said much the same to me before I left.”

“He has the right of it. He has less freedom than you.”

Jon gave Ser Rolland a skeptical look. “I’d have even more freedom if my name was Stark instead of Snow.”

“I won’t lie and say that my name hasn’t held me back. However, Lord Stannis’ regard for me wouldn’t be any higher if I was a Carron. Remember that.”

~

The closer and closer Stannis got to White Harbor, the more he relaxed. When the city was finally visible at the top of a nearby hill, he stopped to admire the view. The place was built entirely of white stone that gleamed in the sunlight, and it smelled fresh like the sea. Unlike King’s Landing, which always reminded Stannis of rotting filth.

Jon rode up next to him, an easy smile on his face.

“Have you ever been to White Harbor before, Jon, or seen the sea?”

“Once,” came the reply. “Father took Robb and me when we were younger. There was some trade agreement to be discussed with Lord Manderly, and he feasted us in his Merman’s Hall. I remember him extolling the virtues of the different varieties of lamprey that he served, but I swear there wasn’t any difference. I knew better not to say anything, but Robb blurted out that the slimy things were all the same.”

Stannis didn’t reply, recalling Robb Stark saying goodbye to his brother with an easy hug, love and friendship easily assured.

~

After riding past ship after ship, Jon watched Stannis dismount in front of the most magnificent vessel that he’d seen in his life. Not that he’d seen many. _FURY_ was painted in bold black letters on the hull, and the prow was ornamented with a fierce looking stag sporting antlers as sharp as daggers. Jon got off his own horse and took the reins of Stannis’. His lord’s expression was changing, and his seemingly permanent frown disappeared when a sailor hailed them and strode down the ship’s gangplank.

The sailor was a common looking man with muddy brown hair and eyes. Plain clothes were topped with a worn salt-stained green cloak, and Jon noticed that the fingers on the man’s left hand looked rather strange from a distance.

“Lord Stannis,” greeted the sailor with a bow.

“Ser Davos,” responded Stannis in turn, placing a hand on the knight’s right shoulder. The corners of his mouth turned up into a smile—not a large one, but it was a smile nevertheless. _So Stannis_ is _capable of smiling_ , noted Jon.

“I have missed you, ser,” said Stannis softly. “I have been too long among Robert and his insufferable court, and I have need of your honest council. As always.”

“I’m flattered, my lord,” Davos smiled back.

“You above all others should know that I don’t seek to flatter.”

“Then I offer you my sincerest apologies. I’ll simply say that I’m honored, as I don’t have a way with words.”

Stannis snorted and made his way onto the ship in step with Davos, discussing logistics and the tides. Jon handed the horses off once he had stepped onto the deck. His eyes were wide as he looked all around him, from the men milling about to the tall masts to the golden colored sails being rigged up.

“You must be Jon.”

Jon spun around and found himself face to face with Ser Davos. He had a kind look on his face, and a hand was held out in greeting. Jon grasped it, blurting out: “You know who I am?”

“Lord Stannis informed me via raven that you would be accompanying him. He’s very meticulous about those types of things, and…most everything else.”

Jon gave Davos a weak smile, unsure what to make of him. When Stannis had informed him that Ser Davos, a loyal knight whom he trusted above all others, would be captaining his Fury out of White Harbor, Jon had formed an image of a tall, stern man who never smiled. Davos wasn’t tall, wasn’t stern, and could make _Stannis_ smile.

“You must be tired of hearing this, but you look ever so much like your father.”

Jon shook his head. He was secretly proud of the fact, for even if his name was Snow, no one could deny that he had Stark blood running through his veins. Though he had been careful never to voice such opinions out loud—especially around Lady Stark. “You’ve met my father?”

“Once, many years ago during the Greyjoy Rebellion. He was fond of talking of his family, and he was very proud of his two young sons at the time, one who was growing up to look just like him.”

“Did he really say that? Or are you just trying to be kind to me?”

“I never tell a man anything less than the truth, a trait of mine that has earned me Lord Stannis’ favor—and also his ire on many an occasion.”

Jon didn’t know how to respond to that, which gave Ghost an opportunity to make his presence known. The direwolf bounded from his side and ran in circles around Davos, wagging his long tail and pushing his nose into Davos left hand. Davos chuckled and ruffled Ghost’s white fur.

“Friendly wolf, is he?”

“Not usually.” Ghost had last acted this way around father and his siblings, good people that Jon knew and loved. The wolf was proving to be a wise judge of character, and strangely enough his demeanor often reflected Jon’s own opinions toward someone. Ghost had completely avoided Lady Stark, disliked anyone loyal to the Lannisters save for Tyrion, and was wary around Stannis. So, based almost entirely on the opinions of a wolf, Jon decided to trust Ser Davos Seaworth.

“Have you ever been on a ship, lad?” Jon shook his head. _Apparently my gawking at everything around me hasn’t gone unnoticed._ Davos didn’t seem to mind, and his eyes lit up.

“Best get used to them, then. Dragonstone’s an island, and there’s only one way to travel to and from it. Unless you’re secretly a Targaryen with a dragon hidden away. Myself, I’ve been all over Westeros, from Dorne to Lannisport to the Wall.” He ruffled Ghost’s fur again. “But never to Winterfell.”

“Why not?”

“The castle’s too far inland.”

~

Lord Godric Borrell of Sweetsister was an ugly man. He was big and fleshy with no neck and great boils on his face and misshapen nose. Not to mention the webbing between his fingers. _But he has even uglier morals,_ mused Stannis.

No sooner had Jon Arryn, liege to the petty lords of the Three Sisters, passed away when Stannis had started receiving ravens telling of terrible shipwrecks all over the Bite—many of the ships being rich trading vessels headed toward White Harbor. The lords of the Three Sisters were supposed to maintain a series of Night Lamps to guide ships around perilous coves, but they had neglected to do so while looting the wrecked ships for their own profits. Stannis had dealt with Lord Borrell in the past, and he would dearly love to see the man who was little better than a pirate hang from one of his own Night Lamps.

Stannis was explaining all of this to Jon as his _Fury_ approached the sorry port of Sweetsister. Many other ships flying the king’s banner were already there as reported by Ser Davos, and Davos had overseen the arrest of a number of men involved in the shipwrecking and looting.

“Will you hang Lord Borrell?”

“The man deserves it, ten times over. Sadly, I don’t have enough evidence to indict _him_ directly, just his underlings. You will come to find, Jon,” explained Stannis, “that men who wield a great deal of power are quick to take glory when it is their men who deserve it—and that they are equally quick to condemn their men when blame lies with themselves. The laws of this realm were written by many such corrupt powerful men, which is unfortunate.”

Jon looked puzzled. “If that’s so, why do you hold the law in such high esteem?”

“Laws serve a purpose, and they set a standard for fair conduct. Without them society will fall into anarchy. It’s preferable to grit your teeth and put up with less than ideal laws than deal with the alternative.”

Jon considered his words. He was proving to be a good listener and didn’t second guess everything that Stannis said, unlike the fools on the Small Council. _Especially Littlefinger, who would whore out his own mother if there was profit to be found._

“I want you to accompany me when I serve my judgment to Lord Borrell.” Stannis looked at the wolf, who was always to be found by his master’s side. “Your direwolf as well.”

“Me? But I’m only a…”

 _Only a bastard? Is that what you mean to say?_ “You’re only a _squire_ , true, but you’re Lord Stark’s son and someone to be taken seriously. You should take interest in a pirate who’s been sabotaging the trade interests of your father’s richest bannerman.”

That shut the boy up, leaving Stannis to order about the thoughts in his head.

~

“So _I_ am suddenly to blame for ships that wreck themselves thanks to storms?”

“It’s currently summer, Lord Borrell. Bad storms don’t start until autumn. There’s no reason for there to be so many shipwrecks around the Three Sisters, or else their harbors would bear the title ‘Shipbreaker Bay’ instead of Storm’s End!”

Stannis was relentless with Lord Borrell, laying accusation upon accusation down upon him while brushing away his excuses. Jon had watched the webbed-fingered lord crumble minute by minute, trying very hard to hold on to his bravado and failing spectacularly. Nothing he said could sway Stannis, who had evidence to back him up and the law to back up the evidence. Yes, Lord Stannis Baratheon was fully in command. And Stannis did this all without yelling or screaming, his voice at an even but severe tone throughout the whole confrontation.

“Furthermore,” persisted Stannis, “My sailors tell me that for a copper extra the taverns here will add a dash of saffron to a serving of Sister’s Stew. Saffron is worth more than its weight in gold, yet your lowly cooks give it out for next to nothing? And this wine that you’ve been serving me…I would never call myself a connoisseur of fine wines, but this vintage is from Volantis, is it not?”

 _Volantis?_ Jon swirled the liquid around in the goblet he had been given. _No wonder it tastes so peculiar._ Of course, Jon had followed Stannis’ example by only taking a few swallows to show politeness. Ser Davos and Ser Andrew, who were also present, had mirrored their lord as well.

“Not even Lord Stark could afford such luxuries when he recently feasted King Robert Baratheon, First of His Name, in Winterfell.”

“Lord Stark? And the king?” Borrell started to visibly tremble at the mention of those names. Apparently Lord Manderly and deceased Lord Arryn weren’t important enough to inspire fear in him. For the first time, Borrell took a closer look at Jon.

“You brought along one of Ned Stark’s whelps,” he stated.

“Yes, Lord Borrell,” replied Stannis with interest, gesturing toward Jon. “This is one of Lord Eddard Stark’s _sons_ , as you so politely put it.”

“Of course. You have your father’s look.” Borrell looked carefully at Ghost, who was currently barring his teeth. “Did you know that _my_ father saved your father’s life long ago?”

“Truly?” wondered Jon.

“Absolutely,” said Borrell, seizing the idea. “Lord Stark was trying to escape from the Eyrie back to Winterfell when then King Aerys called for his head. My father had the chance to do his duty and execute a traitor to the crown, but he showed mercy. Do you believe in mercy, my young lord? Especially when a lord is accused of crimes which are far from his control?”

Jon widened his eyes, taken aback from being addressed as ‘my lord.’ _That’s a first. But he’s not sincere, just flattering in hope that he can trick me to say something in his favor._ Jon turned to Stannis, wondering if he should respond. Stannis’ expression was unreadable, but he nodded, which Jon took as leave to reply.

“Of course I believe in mercy, my lord,” began Jon. “Your father was right to show mercy to mine, as the only treason Lord Eddard Stark had committed against King Aerys at the time was in having the surname Stark. However, Lord Stannis has implicated you in treasons far more serious.” Jon paused to take a sip of his wine. He wondered if one of the strange tastes in it was saffron. “You cannot afford Volantene wine, and the only way for you to have come about it is through stealth, pirating, and looting. I admit that I do not know Lord Stannis very well, but he is merciful.”

Jon could feel Stannis’ eyes boring into him, and he prayed that his words that followed didn’t cause offence. “Lord Stannis will not hang you. He doesn’t have enough evidence to do so, but it isn’t from a lack of trying.”

Jon looked back at Stannis, but his lord was busy unfurling a parchment with the king’s golden seal. “There you have it, Lord Borrell. I am not without mercy. You will not hang, but you will pay Lord Manderly and the merchants listed here the sums representing the lost goods and ships that they have lost, not to mention the lives of many innocent men.”

“I…my lords…” stuttered Lord Borrell, looking from Stannis to Jon to the knights, but he sensibly did not argue. However…

“Will you take a case of saffron back to Dragonstone with you, Lord Stannis? As my thanks for your mercy?”

 _That was a mistake,_ thought Jon as Stannis promptly ground his teeth and spat:

“I do not accept bribes, least of all bribes of stolen goods.”

The _Fury_ was a welcome sight after the stuffy room with the strange wine. Once the ship was sailing south at a good clip, Jon sought out Stannis. His lord was standing at the prow, Ser Davos at his side. Such a sight was common, as Jon was beginning to learn.

Davos smiled in greeting. “You did well on Sweetsister, Jon. You were right to call Lord Stannis a merciful man.” He patted a curious brown leather pouch that hung around his neck, which Jon was hesitant to ask about.

“I was not merciful with you, Davos, I was just,” replied Stannis, not taking his eyes from the sea.

Whether Davos agreed with that statement or not Jon didn’t find out, as the knight excused himself to see to something or another on the ship. Stannis didn’t turn around or say anything to indicate that he was aware of Jon’s presence.

“My lord?” asked Jon tentatively. There was a small matter that had bothered him since the meeting with Lord Borrell.

“Yes, boy?”

“When you introduced me to Lord Borrell, after a fashion…you said, you said that…”

“Yes?”

“You presented me as Lord Eddard Stark’s son.”

Stannis now turned around, putting his back to the sea.

“And? Is that an untruth?”

“No,” admitted Jon, biting his lip. “But you led him to believe that I was my father’s trueborn son instead of his bastard son.”

Stannis’ deep blue eyes narrowed, and his crossed his arms.

“That fool of a pirate clearly didn’t know the difference. The mere mention of your father was enough to inspire fear in him, and there was no reason to mention a fact that might weaken the fear he was beginning to show in you. Is that all, Jon?”

Jon knew that he should simply nod his head and walk away, but instead he blurted out:

“Are you ashamed that I’m bastard born?” _Fine, I’ll be honest and admit to myself that this matter has been eating at me since long before Sweetsister._ “There’s no logical reason that a lord such as yourself would agree to foster me, but why did you? Wouldn’t you rather have taken on my brother Robb as your squire or my brother Bran had he not fallen?”

Stannis frowned and did not speak, looking Jon up and down. He did not speak for such a long time that Jon wondered if he’d said anything to begin with. But Stannis’ subsequent tone of voice left Jon no doubt that he’d heard and seriously considered every word. Jon now wanted to turn and run away, but since he had the gall to ask those questions he needed to show that he had the courage to face the answers.

“Let me make myself very clear, Jon Snow, and I would be saying the exact same thing if you were Jon _Stark_. It matters not to me what your name is, for I have known enough dishonorable knights, posturing princes, and downright evil kings to realize that one’s name gives no guarantee to the integrity of one’s character. Actions and deeds mean more to me. Your name could be King Jon Targaryen for all I care, and I wouldn’t admire or take you seriously until you had proven your worth.”

 _That wasn’t quite the answer I was expecting._ But it made sense with what Jon had come to know about Stannis. So Stannis judged people first and foremost on their merits? Was he going to provide evidence to back his claims? As if he could hear Jon’s thoughts, Stannis asked:

“Do you know how Ser Davos came to be in my service?”

Jon shook his head. He had talked with Davos at length about sailing, his lands on Cape Wrath, and his family. Davos had seven sons, many who Jon would meet on Dragonstone and hopefully become friendly with. How Davos had come to serve Stannis hadn’t come up yet in their conversations, and Jon felt it wasn’t his place to bring up the matter.

“Ser Davos smuggled a ship full of onions, salt fish, and other foodstuffs into Storm’s End while the castle was under siege. Myself, my brother Renly, and my entire garrison would likely have starved to death if it weren’t for him, and for that deed I granted him lands and a knighthood. Over the nearly two decades since, Ser Davos has earned my trust and a place at my side through his steadfast loyalty and rational advice. Which lord was Ser Davos a son of? Some poor fisherman in King’s Landing who died too young, too young to see his son grow up to be the most notorious smuggler in Westeros.”

Jon’s eyes went wide at that, to Stannis’ grim amusement. “So you see, Jon, don’t ever assume that I am ashamed of you because you’re a Snow. I have former criminals and bastards in my service, as well as sons of high lords, and I treat them all the same unless they deserve otherwise.”

Stannis left to go down below deck, leaving Jon to his thoughts. For Jon realized that despite Stannis’ insistence that names didn’t matter to him, he’d never actually answered _why_ he’d taken on Jon as a squire in the first place, and Jon dared not ask the question again. Jon quickly ruled out father bribing him, for even if Eddard Stark was a man to offer bribes, Stannis Baratheon was not a man to ever accept them. So _why_ , then?

Jon sighed. _I might never know the answer, just like I might never know who my mother is._ There was nothing left for him to do except take Stannis’ words to heart and prove his worth, so all would remember that Lord Eddard Stark had fathered four sons—not three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter II
> 
> Lord Borrell of Sweetsister relays the following to Davos in Davos I of _A Dance with Dragons:_
> 
> “As for your King Stannis, when he was Robert’s master of ships he sent a fleet into my port without my leave and made me hang a dozen fine friends, men like you….He went so far as to threaten to hang _me_ if it should happen that some ship went aground because the Night Lamp had gone black. I had to eat his arrogance.”
> 
> A couple years back [I wrote a story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/652349) centered around the events in the above quote, involving Stannis and Davos solving a mystery together and haggling with ~~the fools on~~ the Small Council. I thought it would be fun to revisit the setting in this story, for the journey to and events on the Three Sisters are a great way to introduce Davos and give Jon an idea into how Stannis conducts justice.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, I would like to thank everyone who has taken the time to read this story and comment so far. I never dreamed that there would be such a response for a Stannis & Jon story! I appreciate it, and I'd love to hear what you think about the rest of this story.


	3. Dragonstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon adjusts to life on Dragonstone, and Shireen enters the scene.

The closer the _Fury_ got to Dragonstone, the more Stannis tensed. When the ship had rounded Claw Isle, he began to frown, and once the island was in sight, he ground his teeth on reflex. _If only I was approaching Storm’s End, instead of this pile of rocks. Every time I sail toward Dragonstone, I’m reminded of the battle and the fire and blood it took the capture the place from the last Targaryens._ The only redeeming part of the island was that it gave Stannis a stranglehold on all of the trade going to and from King’s Landing by sea, as the Targaryens had learned long before Aegon the Conqueror had been born. All passing ships had to pay a tax, and Stannis maintained a sizable fleet himself to enforce it as well as protect the capitol. _If it comes to war with the Lannisters over Cersei and her bastards, Tywin Lannister’s great fleet in Lannisport won’t be able to do a damn thing._

The sun had hidden behind grey clouds all day, which fitted Stannis’ mood. _At least Shireen will be happy to see me._ Stark had lent him a book from Winterfell’s library filled with children’s stories of the North, something that would make her smile. Shireen had a joy and aptitude for reading that Robert and Renly had never shown at her age, which Stannis was proud of. Shireen might very well find herself as Lady of Dragonstone in her own right one day, and the skill to read well would not go amiss.

Jon and his wolf were standing at the prow of the ship, watching Dragonstone grow bigger with fascination. His grey and white cloak was flapping in the breeze. The wolf had grown agitated within the confines of the ship, causing Stannis to warn Jon that there was no hunting on Dragonstone, only fishing.

“Ghost will have to brush up on his swimming, then,” said Jon simply.

~

Jon sent a prayer to the Old Gods when his feet were finally on solid ground again. It had taken him quite some time to acquire his ‘sea legs,’ as Davos termed it. It had also taken him quite some time to learn how to keep his meals down, something he felt too embarrassed to tell the kind knight about. Disclosing such a thing to Stannis was out of the question, for Stannis was completely at home on the ship. So at home that Jon wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that the man could walk on water as well.

Stannis had been loath to talk about Dragonstone, but Davos held no such reservations. Even Ser Andrew, who had grown up on the island of Estermont, was happy to talk of it, as the castle was unlike any in Westeros. Still, nothing could’ve prepared Jon for seeing the castle with his own eyes. It was built of stone dragons—dragons adorned the tops of every tower, piled on top of each other at the base, and stalked the imposing walls that were built on sheer cliffs to begin with.

Stannis’ wife and daughter were waiting for him just inside the castle’s main gate, shaped to look like the claws of a dragon’s wing. It wouldn’t have surprised Jon to learn that actual dragonbone was inlaid into the gate to make it fireproof. Lady Selyse was tall and severe, her thin face accentuated by her large ears. She had an arm draped protectively around her daughter’s shoulders. Shireen Baratheon looked nothing like her mother save for her ears, as her coloring and facial structure all came from her father. The remnants of grayscale that covered most of her right cheek and side of her neck were almost the same coal black as her hair. No, Shireen was not a comely child, but her smile was sweet as she ran to greet Stannis.

The last time father had been gone on a long trip, he’d thrown Arya up into the air after she had come running toward him, the same with Bran and Rickon just to be fair. Lady Stark he greeted with a short but passionate kiss, something Jon always turned away from. He didn’t begrudge father for loving his wife, but what about the unnamed woman he’d left behind? Had his mother meant so little to Eddard Stark that he dared not even speak her name? Jon forced those thoughts away with an angry shake of his head, observing Stannis’ family.

Shireen hugged her father around his middle, pressing her face into his chest. Stannis awkwardly patted her head, as if unsure what to do with her. Stannis gave his lady wife no more than a perfunctory nod before turning to an old maester, who seemed genuinely happy to see his lord again. _That’s all? Perhaps Stannis is uncomfortable being put on the spot_ , thought Jon, but then again, this small gathering was far from a feast with the king’s court in attendance.

“My lady, Shireen,” began Stannis gravely, motioning for Jon to approach. “I must introduce…”

“You’re Jon!” immediately exclaimed the girl, letting go of her father and turning toward Jon. “And that’s your direwolf! Oh, may I pet him? Maester Cressen let me read all of father’s ravens from Winterfell, one which said that one of Lord Stark’s sons would be coming here to…”

“Shireen,” admonished Selyse in a sharp tone. “It is rude and unbecoming to interrupt someone while he is speaking, particularly your lord and your father.”

“Your mother is right, Shireen,” said Stannis without looking at his wife. Shireen’s face fell, but she heeded her parents all the same.

Stannis started again. “I must introduce Jon Snow, son of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. He is here to foster on Dragonstone and serve as my squire, much like my brother Robert did with Lord Arryn in the Eyrie.”

Lady Selyse looked down her nose at him, and her posture visibly stiffened. There was no hatred in her eyes, but Jon could tell that there was disappointment in them as they travelled between him and Stannis. _And shame._ Jon was very familiar with that emotion, courtesy of Lady Stark. _She feels that her husband has shamed and disgraced her in some fashion by bringing another man’s bastard home. Will she tell Stannis that? Or is she too polite to question her husband?_

“Lady Baratheon,” said Jon as formally as he could, bowing low. Her expression didn’t change. Jon turned to Shireen, bowing low again. “Lady Shireen.”

Shireen smiled, and in that moment Jon was reminded so much of Arya that he felt a great longing to be back at Winterfell. But he was on Dragonstone, and this was his own _choice_.

“You’re welcome to pet my direwolf. His name is Ghost, and he won’t hurt you. You can ask Ser Davos if you don’t believe me!” Jon heard Davos chuckle behind him as Shireen ran and hugged him as well, excitedly asking if he was going to stay on Dragonstone instead of returning to Cape Wrath. Ghost immediately liked Shireen, and he sat patiently while she petted him.

Selyse, however, took issue with Ghost. “Is that wild beast going to stay here?”

Jon opened his mouth to defend himself, but unexpectedly Stannis spoke first with the same stern voice he had used with Lord Borrell. “The wolf is remarkably well trained. Jon is a _guest_ here on Dragonstone, and the wolf is his responsibility. There will be no more discussion on the matter unless it is warranted, Selyse.”

“Of course, my lord,” she replied with a resigned nod. “Shireen, we must let your father rest from his long voyage, and we’ll see him at the evening meal.” With one last smile at Ghost, Shireen took her mother’s hand and followed her back inside the castle.

~

Jon was given rooms in Dragonstone’s Ice Dragon Tower, a north facing tower named for the dragon with stone icicles dripping off its snout. Jon wondered if someone in the castle was having a laugh at his expense. No type of welcoming feast had been prepared for Stannis’ return, something Jon thought was due to Stannis’ own preferences rather than Lady Selyse being remiss as her duties as Lady of Dragonstone. Still, the meal of fish stew and black bread had been rather awkward. Stannis and his wife exchanged no personal words or pleasantries, and Selyse simply reported on the mundane affairs of the island in Stannis’ absence. Shireen happily talked about her lessons with Maester Cressen, the old maester that Jon had seen earlier, seemingly oblivious to the cold mood of her parents.

That night, unable to properly sleep, Jon set out with Ghost to explore the castle. Unlike Winterfell, which was made up of many unconnected structures with courtyards in between, Dragonstone was all one gigantic building. The black walls were very warm, in part to an ancient volcano below. He studied the Painted Table in the Stone Drum for some time, impressed by the most detailed map of Westeros that he’d ever seen. From there, he moved on to a tower topped with a dragon facing southwest to King’s Landing. Only when Jon heard voices as he turned up a staircase did he realize how very _silent_ the castle was—except for the ever present sound of waves crashing in the distance.

The two voices weren’t arguing, exactly, but they weren’t having a friendly conversation either. Jon quietly followed Ghost to a heavy wooden door decorated with a dragon swimming in the sea.

“I thought you said that Eddard Stark was no friend of yours.”

“He isn’t.”

Jon stilled. He recognized Stannis’ severe voice right away, and the higher, shrill voice must belong to his wife. Common sense told him that he should continue walking, that it was no business of his to listen in on a private conversation, but…the mention of his father made him wonder what…

“Then if you hate him so, why did you shame yourself by fostering his bastard son?”

Jon held his breath, burying his right hand into Ghost’s fur. _So Selyse Baratheon_ does _dare to question her husband._ Stannis took a long time in replying, and the angry scratch of a wooden chair on stone could clearly be heard.

“Just because Stark isn’t my friend doesn’t mean that I hate the man! I respect him, and I trust him to do his duty as well.”

“Robert forced you to do this, didn’t he. Another grand joke of his! He’s insulted you your entire life, first with denying you Storm’s End, then…” Whatever else King Robert had done to Stannis, Jon didn’t get the opportunity to hear as Stannis immediately interrupted his wife.

“I _am_ capable of making my own decisions, Selyse…”

Ghost took off running the way he came, and Jon had no choice but to follow after the wolf lest he lose his way. The journey back to the Ice Dragon Tower seemed to take forever, as the conversation he was never meant to hear kept repeating itself over and over in his mind. Jon threw himself into bed and closed his eyes, but the sleep he so desired never came.

Stannis’ opinions about father…they just didn’t make sense. _He adamantly declares that father isn’t his friend, yet in his next breath he says how much he respects and trusts him! Father has said much the same about Stannis as well, and isn’t that what a friendship is all about? Mutual trust and respect?_

And of course, Jon knew without a doubt that he was the source of Stannis and Selyse’s harsh words towards each other. Father and Lady Stark would sometimes argue about him, more often when he got older. Jon could always tell, for father’s face would freeze while Lady Stark would glare daggers at him. _They also never raised their voices to each other, except when talking about me._ Jon thought that he had left all that behind at Winterfell, and Stannis had led him to believe that on Dragonstone deeds and actions meant more than names and titles.

 _Tyrion Lannister was right after all,_ thought Jon bitterly. _Stannis might claim to forget that I’m a bastard, but the rest of the world never will._

~

“I am capable of making my own decisions, Selyse. I will entertain no further discussion about Eddard Stark, Jon Snow, or any of my foolish brothers,” declared Stannis with a tone of finality. “I’ve listened to you, as I always have. Be grateful for that.”

Stannis was in his solar in Sea Dragon Tower, and he dearly wished that he had dismissed his wife the minute she’d knocked on the door to his rooms. The evening had been rather peaceful, from dinner with Shireen happily talking to learning from Maester Cressen that no serious problems had arisen during his trip to Winterfell. _Well, apart from how to tell Robert about Cersei’s incestuous offspring without Jon Arryn by my side._

Selyse opened her mouth, likely to continue listing reasons why Stark’s bastard would be a stain on his reputation. Some sister or cousin of hers had sons around Jon’s age who would be far more suitable, and Stannis had to restrain himself from telling her what he thought of the majority of her relations—especially Ser Axell, whose presence on Dragonstone he only tolerated because Selyse loved him like a father.

“You’ve expressed similar concerns toward Ser Davos in the past, all which have been unfounded. His days of flouting the law are over, and he’s a more worthy man than most of the lords in my service. I’ve never commanded you to like him, but I _have_ asked that you keep your feelings to yourself. You will do the same with Jon.”

“I only tell you what I believe to be in your best interests, my lord.”

“And I thank you for that. You are my lady. But that doesn’t mean I always agree with you.”

With that, Selyse bowed and left to return to her own rooms. Stannis went to the closest window, one of the two eyes of the sea dragon focused on King’s Landing. The city was too far away for him to ever see it, which suited him fine. Now with his wife gone, the only sounds for him to hear were the waves crashing on rocks far below.

~

The next morning after Jon had broken his fast in the kitchens, he met with Stannis to learn about his duties while on Dragonstone. Stannis’ first priority wasn’t to show Jon around the castle or to introduce him to its inhabitants, however.

“For the next few days you will be joining my daughter in her lessons with Maester Cressen. He’s currently teaching her the sigils and words of the southern houses.”

“Sigils and house words,” said Jon flatly. _How old does he take me for?_

Jon’s expression must have been mirroring his thoughts, for Stannis crossed his arms and deepened his frown. “If you think such things are beneath you, Jon, then please enlighten me.”

“I only meant…”

“What is the sigil and words of House Baratheon?”

“A crowned stag on gold and ‘Ours is the Fury,’ ” said Jon warily, suspecting some kind of trap.

“House Lannister? Tyrell? Arryn? Martell? Tully?”

Jon responded in kind each time, thinking of the lions that had adorned Queen Cersei’s red dresses and the silver trout brooch that Lady Stark used to fasten her cloaks.

“So you know the Lords Paramount, something every royal page could tell me. Which house has a fox with a ring of flowers? Or a grey ship on black? Or a turtle?”

Jon fell silent, which Stannis seemed to be expecting.

“The fox belongs to the Florents of Brightwater Keep, my wife’s house. Ser Davos chose a grey ship on black for his sigil when I knighted him, and the turtle represents the current Hand of the King and my maternal grandfather, Lord Estermont. You might know the North very well, but Dragonstone is worlds away from Winterfell. Different bannermen answer to me, but it would be useless to start telling you about them and their convoluted personal and political relationships if you can’t even tell me the basics about my own family.”

That stung, but Stannis had the right of it. There was nothing for Jon to do except nod his head. With gritted teeth. Luckily, any resentment he felt quickly disappeared when he got to know Maester Cressen. The man was older than Maester Luwin, and the only ill will he openly showed was to Dragonstone’s many staircases.

“You remind me much of Lord Stannis when he was your age.”

“I…really?” Jon was rather thrown off by the comment.

“My lord has always been serious and reserved, even more so since the death of Lord Steffon and Lady Cassana.”

Those were Stannis’ parents. Maester Cressen had served the Baratheons of Strom’s End long before Stannis and his brothers had been born, he had said, but he had never said how his former lord has died. And Jon had learned that Stannis was as likely to talk about his family as father was to talk of Aunt Lyanna.

“When was that?”

“How old are you, lad?” asked Maester Cressen, studying him.

“My fifteenth nameday is within a moon’s turn.”

Maester Cressen gave a sad smile, fingering the links on his long chain. “Why, it was when Lord Stannis wasn’t much younger than you. They drowned in Shipbreaker Bay.”

Not only was Jon instructed about the important southern families from the maester, but he learned much of the history and lore of Dragonstone as well. Shireen seemed to know as much about the ancient Targaryen stronghold as Maester Cressen, and she delighted in showing him books with colorful illustrations of the _real_ dragons that had lived there. Like Arya, Shireen didn’t enjoy all of her lessons. Needlework was fine, but she could do without the long hours her mother wanted her to spend in the sept.

“I’ve read _The Seven Pointed Star_ ,” she informed Jon one day. “I told mother it didn’t seem any different than my storybooks, but she said I was just too young to understand it. But I know father agrees with me.”

“Oh? What did he say?”

“Nothing. He just sat there silently and didn’t say that mother was right. He never visits the sept either, so why do I have to?”

“I’ve never been in a sept.” Winterfell’s sept was the domain of Lady Stark and _her_ gods, and Jon had no interest in going where he wasn’t welcome. “But I’ve been in a godswood.” Jon started telling Shireen about Winterfell, describing the castle and what it was like to grow up there. She listened, fascinated.

“Are there stone wolves there?”

“Of course. The direwolf is the sigil of my father’s house.”

“I already know that! I won’t forget your house or its words, not after knowing you and Ghost.”

_I’m not a Stark._

“Do you dream of them?” continued Shireen, oblivious to the effect of her last words.

Jon thought of his recurring Winterfell dream, the dream where the castle was burned and crumbling and empty.

“Sometimes.”

“I dream about the stone dragons here. I don’t like them.” Her voice had been reduced to a whisper. “I often have nightmares that they’re coming to eat me.” In that moment Jon felt much sympathy for the girl, and he wanted to ruffle he hair like Arya’s. But he wasn’t sure how she would react to such a gesture.

“Don’t tell anyone I said that, please? Father thinks dreams are silly, and mother will only say that the gods are punishing me for my sins.”

Jon nodded solemnly. “I have nightmares about stone coming to life too, you know. I always wander through an empty Winterfell and find myself in the crypts, where the stone statues of the old Kings of Winter—and their wolves—have come to life and yell at me that I don’t belong.”

Shireen looked back at him, a serious look in her deep blue eyes that eerily resembled… _She’s truly her father’s daughter, though hopefully she’ll only smile more as she gets older._

~

Direwolves. Stannis ran his thumb over a white wax seal. He had received his first raven from Winterfell that day, and Stark was overjoyed to tell him that his son Bran had finally woken up from his fall. Bran himself had even written a short note to his brother, saying that he had named his grey direwolf Summer. Summer apparently missed Ghost and hoped that he enjoyed fishing on Dragonstone.

Stannis scoffed at the lines about the wolves, but Jon only smiled at them when Stannis showed him the letter.

“Bran woke up!”

“Your brother’s crippled for life, boy. He’ll never be able to walk or father children.”

Jon’s smile didn’t fade. “He’s alive and has his family with him. Surely that’s better than the alternative.”

“I never wished your brother ill, but you’re being too optimistic. Life is cruel, and he’ll be forced to face harsh realities soon enough.”

Jon raised his eyebrows, clearly taken aback. “I know that life is not a song, my lord.”

“Good. Eddard Stark taught you something of great value.”

“He didn’t need to teach me that.” With a small bow, Jon walked out of the room, leaving Stannis alone to think about the Starks.

~

Life on Dragonstone soon settled into a pattern, albeit one that often left Jon physically and mentally exhausted. Mornings were for swordplay and sailing instruction. Ser Andrew was a proficient master at arms, though nearly as unyielding as Jon imagined Stannis would be. He found himself on his back or with a sword at his throat more often than he would’ve liked, but there was no other way for him to learn.

Sailing was an altogether different matter. Stannis was at home on the sea, and it went without question that any squire in his service should know the ins and outs of the many different ships in his sizable fleet—from the warships to the trading cogs to the sleek galleys. Jon usually shadowed Ser Davos, who had a wealth of knowledge about everything that could possibly happen on the sea. He would laugh when Jon cautiously asked questions about his smuggling past, and such questions never offended him.

“I have no need to lie or be ashamed of my past, Jon,” Davos would say. “I wouldn’t be in Lord Stannis’ service if I wasn’t a smuggler and had an ego so large that it made me think I could outwit the formidable Redwyne fleet! Besides, some smuggler tricks have been quite useful in helping the Royal Fleet enforce the law.”

And then there was the swimming. Jon had always considered himself a good swimmer, having learned in Winterfell’s moat. Stannis was not impressed.

“A moat is a stagnant body of water. The Narrow Sea is not.”

Stannis had implemented frequent swimming drills for all sailors in his service and all men who might frequently find themselves on a ship. Drowning due to ineptitude was unacceptable. Men should always be prepared for shipwrecks and falling overboard, whether it be during war or peacetime. By the old gods and the new, Jon detested swimming. Davos’ sons would always kid him good naturedly about it. He had met four of them—Dale and Allard captained ships, Matthos hoped to captain one when he was older, and Maric was an oarsmaster who confessed to Jon that he’d rather be a knight on dry land than one at sea.

Afternoons were mostly spent with Stannis, learning about the many duties of being Lord of Dragonstone and Master of Ships. While Robb might weary of learning how to be Lord of Winterfell, Jon found it fascinating to listen and watch Stannis. Stannis wasn’t the most patient of men when dealing with those he despised or men who were clearly fools, but he was very deliberate and pragmatic when making decisions, and he often analyzed things to death—unlike King Robert, who’s style involved storming his enemy’s keep, war hammer in hand while damning all the consequences. At least according to his younger brother.

Though Jon would never admit it out loud, and least of all to the Lord of Dragonstone himself, he relished the one on one time that he had with Stannis. Father had given him his share of lessons concerning ruling and politics, but they were always with Robb, and it was always Robb who got to travel to visit various bannermen. As well, Father was a busy man. When he was finished being Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North for the day, there was always Lady Stark and the rest of his siblings clamoring for his attention. Not to say that Stannis _wasn’t_ a busy man also, but the demands on his time were…different.

Stannis saw little of Lady Selyse and talked with her even less, and such conversations that Jon had the chance to hear were always stilted and devoid of the affection that was always present between his father and Lady Catelyn. ‘Snow on one’s wedding day makes for a cold marriage,’ went a popular adage in the North. _There must have been a blizzard the day that Stannis wed. At least they don’t despise each other like King Robert and Queen Cersei, and whatever else Stannis fails in as a husband, he is dutiful to his wife and treats her with respect._ Jon thought about father, remembering how he once thought Eddard Stark to be the most honorable and honest man in Westeros. _And hasn’t fathered any bastards._

Jon was beginning to understand what father had meant when he said that Stannis was utterly unlike King Robert. He was reserved when Robert was uninhibited, and he didn’t drink and whore. Stannis didn’t enjoy war for war’s sake, seeing it as a means to an end. His idea of a pleasant evening was to share a meal and conversation with someone he respected over throwing a raucous feast. More and more Stannis would invite Jon to his solar in the evenings, where Maester Cressen and Davos were frequent visitors. Sure, Stannis was a hard man and not the most pleasant person to be around. He had never learned to soften hard truths, making many of his words sound like direct insults whether they were meant as such or not. But Stannis still listened to Jon and always considered what he had to say. He encouraged questions, though he also encouraged thought before asking them—causing Jon to carefully choose his words instead of blurting out the first thing that came to his mind.

Shireen was a rare bright spot on the black and often forbidding island. When she could get away from her mother and various other minders, she often went to the beach and played with Ghost. Jon always thought that Ghost was too smart for games such as chasing after sticks, but with Shireen he happily wagged his tail and did whatever she wished. Jon began to teach Shireen how to skip rocks like he had done with Arya.

Life on Dragonstone wasn’t so bad after all, and the uncertainty Jon felt during his first night on the island was slowly fading away—though not completely forgotten. Like father had said, the Wall would always be there for him, but Jon wasn’t quite ready to take the Black. Not yet.

~

Stannis received ravens from Winterfell on a regular basis. Ned Stark always had kind words to say to his bastard son, and so did his trueborn children. Stannis was able to recognize the hands of Robb and Arya Stark after a short time, and he was uncomfortably reminded of the letters that Robert would send to Storm’s End from the Eyrie—the rare times he got around to it. Robert would never fail to mention Ned Stark and how very glad he was to have made such a good friend. _As if Stark wasn’t much different than me._

On a more serious note, Stark was very interested to know how Stannis’ investigations into the death of Jon Arryn were going. _I know who killed Jon Arryn, or at least I know who had the best motive._ It rankled Stannis that he didn’t have the evidence that he wished, but that would require a trip to King’s Landing, something he didn’t want to risk at the present time. Lord Estermont was proving to be an efficient if conservative Hand, hoping to preserve the status quo while stabilizing the crown’s expenditures. That suited Stannis well enough, for hopefully his grandfather would ruffle no feathers and lull the Lannisters into a false sense of security while Stannis prepared his case against them.

Since returning to Dragonstone, Stannis had made good use of his time. A number of new ships were built in anticipation of future hostilities, the docks on Dragonstone’s fishing villages were repaired, and weaknesses in the castle were fortified by a veritable army of masons. He paid calls to his lords bannermen, few as they were, to assess the state of their lands and personal affairs. He settled disputes between his smallfolk, passed sentence on a tax collector cheating Lord Sunglass at Sweetport Sound, and advised young Lord Bar Emmon on suitable marriage prospects. Jon—and his direwolf—accompanied Stannis on all of these short trips, which Stannis did his best to make instructive. Stannis welcomed his questions and opinions, and while some were absurd and exposed his inexperience, at least Jon was learning to _think_.

Though Jon did have his moments when he decidedly did _not_ think.

Stannis often observed his garrison doing their daily drills in Dragonstone’s practice yard. While he had no fondness for the island and would shed no tears were he to never see it again, Stannis would be damned if anyone were to attack _his_ domain. Any man in the castle strong enough to hold a sword, throw a spear, or shoot a bow was thus instructed and kept in form—including himself. _I’ve seen thirty five namedays, and while I’m no Aemon the Dragonknight, I can hold my own in a fight._ Ned Stark hadn’t been remiss in having his son trained in arms, and Stannis was reassured to see that Jon’s blade was as quick as his mind was proving to be. Jon was no match for Ser Rolland or his cousin Ser Andrew yet, but he had yet to reach his full height and strength. But the boys and young men that he _was_ a match for…

One day Stannis came across Jon having a bout with Maric Seaworth. Maric wasn’t using his shield properly, which Jon was relentlessly taking advantage of. The fight ended with Jon using a sharp backhand stroke that hit the older boy’s wrist, causing him to drop his sword. The smug smile that soon appeared on Jon’s face troubled Stannis, even more so when Jon offered no hand to end the fight on good terms or to help his opponent put his equipment away. 

Jon jumped back when Stannis approached him, clearly not expecting to see him until that afternoon. The wolf was nowhere to be found.

“You’re being unnecessarily harsh with Maric Seaworth and a number of other young men in my service.”

Jon frowned. “Harsh? But I’m better than them, and Maric is bigger and stronger than I am.”

“Oh? And that makes it okay to take excessive pride in victories against him?”

“Maric always beats me at swimming,” Jon countered defiantly.

“That’s because you’re a terrible swimmer. Maric has been out to sea since before he could walk, but he hasn’t had any opportunities to train with a master at arms on Cape Wrath. Ser Davos is _not_ a destitute landed knight, but he can’t afford to have all seven sons of his sons trained to be knights.”

Jon refused to meet his eyes. Stannis waited, but the boy continued to stare determinedly at his boots. So Stannis took him under the chin and twisted his head until he had no choice _but_ to look at him.

“ _Look_ at me when I’m talking to you. You’re the son of a lord, not some unruly servant. This practice yard is no different than my solar.” There was fear in Jon’s grey eyes now, all traces of defiance long gone. “ _Being_ better at something and _telling_ that you’re better at something are very different things. Boasting often leads to arrogance, and arrogance often leads to death. Both of my brothers might learn that one day to their sorrow.” That was the heart of it, boasting and arrogance. Stannis had never fallen prey to those vices, and it would be a failure on his part if he let Stark’s son go down that path.

Jon was silent for a long time, and to his credit he continued to meet Stannis’ eyes and not shake out of his grip. “I’m sorry.”

“Good. It would be prudent of you to learn more humility.”

“Humility?” Jon almost spat the word at him, and Stannis visibly saw the effort it took him not to say anything more.

“It’s easier to be humble in defeat than humble in victory.” Stannis dropped his hand and left Jon to put his equipment back into the armory. Later, Stannis was pleased to learn from Ser Davos that no ill will had developed between his son and Jon. In fact, Jon had even offered to show Maric some sword moves in return for advice on how to improve his swimming.

As the months went by, it occurred to Stannis that Stark’s bastard son could’ve been like Robert—anxious to go out and fight with no patience for the real _work_ it took to rule. Robert often forgot that ruling involved council sessions, listening to advisors, going over accounts, haggling with lords and merchants alike, and venturing outside one’s castle to know the state of one’s lands and people. Stannis already knew that Jon was a good listener, and but the boy was also dutiful, respectful, and proving to have an aptitude for making hard decisions—even if he had a bit more compassion than Stannis thought necessary.

It had been a gamble. A gamble, for sure, to take Jon Snow to Dragonstone with him. But for once things had worked out remarkably well, and Stannis was satisfied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter III
> 
> -It’s not clear when Melisandre came to Dragonstone in canon, as the first mention we have of her is Tyrion hearing from Tywin that Stannis brought over a “shadowbinder from Asshai” at the end of AGOT. I’m going with the assumption that she didn’t appear until well after Robert’s death, for I don’t see Stannis believing her “You’re the true king of prophecies!” thing until after Robert and Ned are out of the picture. Thus, she doesn’t appear in this story.
> 
> -Since Selyse is a devout follower of R'hllor in canon, I didn't think that it was too much of a stretch to make her a devout follower of the Seven in a setting where Melisandre doesn't exist. Religious fervor often comes from somewhere, and Stannis and Selyse's differing religious beliefs are certainly a reason why their marriage is so cold.
> 
>  


	4. The Truth Will Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stannis and Jon come to a head over the true identity of the royal children - as well as other personal matters simmering below the surface.

"Truth will come to light; murder cannot be hid long; a man's son may, but at the length truth will out."  
Launcelot from Shakespeare's _Merchant of Venice_ , Act II Scene II

Grand Maester Malleon’s _Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms_. Stannis almost smiled when the book was safely in his hands, wrapped in thick wax paper to protect it from the perils of a sea journey. Some time ago, Stannis had asked Lord Estermont to send it to him, knowing that Grand Maester Pycelle would be loath to part with even a single scrap of parchment from the Red Keep’s library. The Hand of the King, however, could easily overrule the Grand Maester in such a matter. As usual, Lord Estermont asked Stannis when he would be returning to the capitol to take his seat on the Small Council, and Stannis’ reply was the same as always: _When my current affairs on Dragonstone have concluded._ Stannis didn’t bother to go into more detail. His grandfather wasn’t a man to pry, and Robert never seemed to care overmuch _what_ he did.

But the book was in his hands, and that’s what mattered. Here was written proof that Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen could not possibly be Baratheons, the proof that had convinced Jon Arryn long before Stannis had taken him to various brothels in King’s Landing. Just to be sure, Stannis scrupulously studied the lineages of all the houses Grand Maester Malleon had seen fit to include, just to make sure that none other had descendants that _all_ looked the same like House Baratheon. Even the Targaryens, famed for their silver hair and purple eyes, occasionally produced a child with dark hair depending on the features of a non-Targaryen spouse—such as Prince Rhaegar and his children.

~

From all the time that Jon spent in Stannis’ solar, he began to notice a very large, thick, and presumably old book. Sure, Dragonstone’s library held many such volumes, but Stannis was such a man to always return things to their proper places unless he had constant need of them. Stannis’ need of this book seemed to be rather great indeed, for Jon often observed him examining it intently, making notes on a sheaf of parchment that was carefully filed away when not in use. If the book was a ledger or somehow related to the management of Dragonstone, Jon was sure that Stannis would’ve told him about it by now.

But since he hadn’t and Jon was curious, he decided to ask. _The worst that will happen is Stannis saying the book is none of my business._

“Lord Stannis?” inquired Jon one afternoon, after he and Stannis had finished going through Dragonstone’s accounts for that month. There were stewards to do such things, of course, but Stannis only took their word after he’d audited their work.

Stannis simply looked at him, eyebrows raised, which Jon knew was his opening to speak.

“What is the content of that book you constantly read? Is it important?”

Stannis followed Jon’s eyes to the large book, currently sitting on a shelf by the twin windows of the room.

“What do you think?”

Jon frowned. “It must be, since I don’t know you to read for pleasure.”

Stannis snorted. “Those volumes of Valyrian poetry in Dragonstone’s library don’t tempt you?”

Jon didn’t respond, wondering if Stannis was trying to make a joke. It was always hard to tell.

“You’re correct, Jon, in assuming that the book is important. It is important to the stability of this entire realm and exposes the greatest threat that my brother has faced in his reign.” Stannis crossed his arms, looking from Jon to the book and back again half a hundred times. “In fact, you are welcome to read it.”

“I am?” replied Jon, confused. He walked over to the book, finally reading the title and rifling through the pages. “Lineages? What do those have to do with the stability of the realm?”

“I’ll let you figure that out. Read the book during your free time and report back to me when you have a logical answer. However, Grand Maester Malleon’s monumental work is never to leave this room. _Never._ Do you understand me, Jon Snow?”

Stannis’ tone of voice surprised Jon. That it was stern and left no room for argument was nothing new, but there was an unnerving hint of desperation in it that made Jon wonder. _How dangerous could one book_ be _?_

~

Over the next few weeks, Stannis watched Jon read the lineage book. The boy had no idea what he was supposed to be looking for, and it was obvious that that frustrated him. His eyes would often glaze over as he rifled through the pages, going through list after list that never varied in style. Lord So and So, son of Lord and Lady So and So, married Lady So and So of House So and So, begat son So and So and daughter So and So… _Not unlike many of the famous epic Valyrian poems._

Stannis wondered if he was right in trusting Jon with the book and the secrets it revealed. Apart from Jon Arryn, Stannis hadn’t confided his suspicions about Cersei’s children with any other soul. It wasn’t a matter of trust, exactly. He trusted Davos like no other, for one, and not once in fifteen years had he ever doubted him. _But there are some secrets that can kill us, some secrets that eat us up from the inside and lead to our destruction if we’re not careful._ Lord Arryn had already died, and if his killer was smart enough to riddle out what the Hand knew, it wouldn’t be difficult to figure out _who else_ knew too. And the more people who knew, the more people were in danger. When Jon had first asked about the book, Stannis’ first instinct was to tell the boy that it was none of his business. Stark would never thank him for bringing the bones of one of his precious children back to Winterfell, if he even lived long enough to do such a thing. But then… _I’ve been acting like a paranoid fool on this matter. If there’s anything in this world worth dying for, it’s justice. And bringing Cersei and Jaime Lannister to heel for incest, adultery, and high treason is the justice that this realm needs._

So Jon read the book and Stannis waited.

The time came one sunny afternoon when there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Jon still had salt in his hair from his swim that morning, and his direwolf was napping in a beam of light on the floor of Stannis’ solar. The beast was growing fast, and soon it would be larger than a common wolf.

“Lord Stannis, may I discuss the lineage book with you?”

Stannis took a sip of water flavored with lemon. “By all means. What have you gathered from it?”

“Grand Maester Malleon doesn’t quite have a way with words like King Daeron in his _Conquest of Dorne_ ,” said Jon with a slight quirk in his mouth.

Stannis waved Jon’s words away. “I don’t have time to hear about that vainglorious book.”

“It’s not…” Jon looked mildly offended, but he wisely didn’t argue the point. He retrieved the book from its shelf and carefully laid it open on Stannis’ desk, turning to the pages on House Baratheon. _That’s a good start._

“Maester Luwin at Winterfell made Robb and I read a number of histories about the Starks. The list of names goes on and on, and you really don’t want to know how many Brandon Starks there were. I can recite the names and deeds of many of the old Kings of Winter.”

“Your point?”

“My point is that histories have accompanying stories with their list of names, all the better to instruct and teach. There’s only one reason to look through a lineage: to prove someone’s parentage. If you say there’s a threat to King Robert, perhaps there have been accusations as to whether or not he has Baratheon or Targaryen blood? I don’t see a fault with his lineage, for as far as I can tell there’s an unbroken line from the Storm Kings and Targaryens to him.”

Jon walked around the desk, hands clenched at his side. “I can’t think of anything else, any other logical explanation.”

Stannis grimaced. “That’s the best you can do?”

“The answer’s surely not obvious, if this book had been innocently sitting in the Red Keep’s library until you picked it up!” Jon’s voice rose slightly.

_Perhaps I haven’t been entirely fair. He’s never met Robert’s bastards, nor has he spent years watching Cersei and Jaime look at each other like no siblings ever should._ “You were right in that lineages are only good for tracing one’s parentage. But this book in unique because it lists physical descriptions along with the names. Has nothing unusual caught your eye in that respect?”

Jon frowned. “There is something odd…”

“Oh? What do you think is odd?”

“House Baratheon. That’s why I opened the book there. The fact that Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen are the only blond Baratheons…ever.” Jon shrugged, flipping to the section on House Stark. “But maybe that’s not so unusual, as not all Starks have had dark hair and grey eyes like my father.”

_He noticed._ “What if I were to tell you, Jon, that House Baratheon is the _only_ house in this book where every descendent has had the same look? And that Robert has numerous bastards who are all black of hair, the same as Robert, Renly, Shireen, and myself?”

Jon stared at Stannis across the book, processing the information. The more time passed, the wider his grey eyes got. Out of the corner of his eye, Stannis noticed that the wolf was also awake and watching the pair of them.

“Do you mean to say that…”

“That Robert’s children aren’t his children? Yes. Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen were all fathered by Ser Jaime Lannister, who killed one king and has now cuckolded another.”

Before Jon could answer, Stannis shot another question at him.

“Why do you think Jon Arryn died?”

The boy bit his lip. “He was old…”

“So is Maester Cressen, and your namesake was in very good health before he suddenly took sick and died in a fortnight.”

Jon stilled. “Lord Arryn knew also. He knew the truth about the royal children, and he likely had proof in addition to this book to back him up.” There was a pause as he glanced to the stack of recent correspondence on Stannis’ desk. “Father keeps writing to you to ask what you’ve learned of Lord Arryn’s death. You knew it was murder all along, or at least you think it was murder.”

Stannis nodded gravely.

“Did Lord Arryn confide the secret with you, then?”

“ _I’m_ the one who told Lord Arryn.”

Jon’s eyes grew wider, if that was even possible. Stannis used that opening to describe his investigations on the matter, his visits to brothels and taverns and smith shops, and the stranglehold on power the Lannisters nearly held on the crown and realm by extension.

“King Robert doesn’t know, does he.”

“No.”

“And you’ve known about this incest for, what, a year? Two years? Longer?” wondered Jon incredulously.

“I had to gather evidence. Incontrovertible evidence, so that no one in their right mind could doubt me,” said Stannis stiffly. “This is not an inconsequential matter, and Tywin Lannister _will_ declare war if his children are put on trial and executed for treason.”

“But you’re not accomplishing anything by sitting here on Dragonstone!” Jon continued on, oblivious to Stannis’ glare. “You have the evidence, and knowing you, you already have a plan to deal with the Lannisters. What’s stopping you from telling your brother?”

“What’s stopping me?” Stannis clenched his hands on the edges of his desk to stop them from shaking. “If I were to fly to King’s Landing right now and tell Robert, he would likely laugh his head off and think me delusional. He would say that I was bitter and looking for a way to place myself first in the line of succession! If the truth had come from Jon Arryn, however, a man Robert loved, he would’ve unquestionably believed it.”

“You don’t think your brother loves you?”

“Robert’s regard toward me is no more than dutiful,” Stannis snapped.

“Then maybe you didn’t try hard enough,” shot Jon right back. He immediately seemed to regret those words, involuntarily stepping back from the desk when Stannis answered back.

“Try? I’ve done nothing _but_ try with Robert my entire life!” _I’ve tried to please him, tried to counsel him, tried to be a good friend and above all a good_ brother _to him!_ “And what has been my thanks? I’m gifted with this pile of rocks and get to hear what an _honorable_ and _dutiful_ man Ned Stark is at every turn!”

Jon continued to back away, and a look of confusion passed across his face.

“But King Robert made you a lord of the realm and gave you a seat on the Small Council. You’ve led his armies in battle many a time. He trusts you.”

“Trust isn’t the same as love.”

“It can be,” insisted Jon. “If you have so little faith in King Robert, why haven’t you told Lord Renly and then the both of you tell him together? You three are brothers.”

_Renly. That posturing fool who owns more silks than my lady wife and daughter combined. When was the last time he listened to anything I said?_ Stannis rounded on Jon.

“Do you have any _idea_ how lucky you are to have a family such as yours? Lady Stark might wish you gone, to be sure, but even a blind man could see how much your father and siblings love you!”

“But I’m bastard born.”

“Oh? Did that stop Lord Eddard Stark from raising you in his castle alongside his heir? Or your youngest sister from declaring you her favorite brother? Or even the rest of your siblings from writing to you with fond and thoughtful words?” Jon opened his mouth, _to do what, object?_ But Stannis was unrelenting. “Your brothers have never purposely slighted, snubbed, or insulted you. If you had any inheritance to speak of, do you think Robb would give it all away to an unlettered child? And would Robb ever tell you that he wished another man had been his brother instead?”

Stannis was shouting now, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had lost his temper in such a fashion. He always took pride in being able to control his emotions, unlike Robert who was too often a personification of the Baratheon house words. 

Jon had backed himself into a corner, literally, between a bookshelf and a window. Stannis purposely walked over and trapped him there, placing a hand on either side of his head.

“You have no right to lecture me on loving my family, boy, when you’ve received nothing _but_ that from yours!”

Once he was sure that his words had sunk in, Stannis stepped away. Without a bow or any nod of acknowledgement, Jon swiftly crossed to the door and fled the room. Stannis made no move to stop him. He closed his eyes and took a series of deep breaths, wondering when his breathing had become so erratic. The press of a wet tongue to his hand brought him back to his senses.

The direwolf was still in the room.

“What?” The wolf sat back on its haunches and yawned, giving Stannis an impressive view of his teeth. “What do you want? Are you going to eat me for yelling at your master? He deserved it, you know.” There was no reply. Ghost simply looked at Stannis with those deep red eyes of his, a knowing look that caused Stannis’ anger to slowly ebb away. And be replaced with a feeling that he had so rarely encountered—remorse.

~

Jon ran and kept running, through the stone halls of Dragonstone and out its gates, ignoring the bewildered looks of all he passed.

_“You have no right to lecture me on loving my family, boy, when you’ve received nothing but that from yours!”_

Stannis’ last words kept ringing in his ears. And the _way_ they had been said…Stannis had leaned in so close, whispering them into his ear in a low, cold voice. Almost close enough to…Jon shook his head and kept on running. The words hurt, in more ways than one. _Do you think growing up in Winterfell was always like a song, my lord? True, I never had to worry about where my next meal would come from or if I had a sturdy roof over my head. I was educated like a noble. But it wasn’t easy watching Lady Stark hug and kiss all of my siblings and then have her glare at me like I didn’t belong and would never belong. Father also did his best to pretend I didn’t exist when important people came to visit, such as your beloved brother._

Jon stopped when he reached the beach where he and Shireen often skipped stones. A pile of flat, smooth pebbles was sitting next to a large boulder, and Jon grabbed a handful and started throwing them into the sea. Try as he might, he couldn’t get the right angle to make them skip, so he just hurled the pebbles as hard as he could into the distant waves, one by one.

This wasn’t the first time he had argued with Stannis. But this was the first time where Jon had truly thought Stannis to be unreasonable, and Stannis didn’t want to admit it. The Lord of Dragonstone was usually so logical and reserved, often to the point where he seemed ignorant of emotion. But the subject of his brothers was like a hornet’s nest that Jon had inadvertently kicked, and he’d gotten stung for it. _What had_ happened _between Robert, Renly, and Stannis?_ Robert and Stannis were civil to each other in public, but did that mean they sniped at each other in private? How had Robert so insulted Stannis that he’d never gotten over it? The mention of an inheritance given away must be a reference to Storm’s End, which Stannis’ wife had mentioned all that time ago—it had always struck Jon as odd that the youngest of the Baratheon brothers held the greatest castle in the Stormlands over an older brother or any of the royal children. _Yet despite all of this Stannis is still loyal to his brother and his king, I’m in no doubt of that._

Jon angrily pushed his fingers through his hair, wishing he could sort out the mess of thoughts in his head—including the shock about the royal children, which was what the conversation was supposed to have been about in the first place. He should go back to the solar and apologize for his conduct. Stannis was almost certainly still there, reading papers on his desk or staring out the windows with a glass of lemon salt water in his hand. But that could wait, as Jon was in no fit state to calmly speak with Stannis. _And I’m not even drunk, imagine that._

A long shadow suddenly appeared in front of Jon. He gave a sigh of relief and turned around. “Ghost. I was wondering where you’d gotten off…”

Ghost was there, of course, as Jon was always able to sense his wolf. But he was not prepared for Ghost to have company.

“…to.”

Stannis was standing before him, hands behind his back and Ghost at his side as if was the most natural thing.

Jon stood motionless, his ears filled with the sound of waves crashing on some distant cove. He wondered who would speak first.

“Lord Stannis.”

“Jon.”

Silence returned. Stannis looked down and ruffled the fur on Ghost’s head. “Your wolf was very insistent that I follow him. This must be where he likes to play with my daughter.”

Jon blinked. “I…” he began, but Stannis spoke over him.

“I came here to apologize. I let my emotions control me like a marionette, and I should never have yelled at you. We were having a rational discussion about a matter of state, and then you called me out on a mistake that I made. I did not appreciate it at the time, but it was right of you to do so.”

Jon was stunned. Not just at Stannis’ calm voice, but at the fact that the man knew what an apology was and how to make one. 

“I’ve delayed in making a move concerning Cersei and Jaime Lannister’s bastard children for too long. It’s time for Robert and the realm to know.”

“Thank you,” said Jon quietly. “I was in the wrong as well. I should not have made insinuations about your family.” Stannis raised an eyebrow.

“I just never thought…” Jon’s voice trailed off as Stannis looked at him intently. _I never thought that anyone would be jealous of me, especially a high lord._ It wouldn’t do to say that to Stannis, however, for he might take insult and start arguing again. “I just never thought of my family in such a way.”

“One of the follies of youth is that we take too many things for granted.”

“Shireen loves you unconditionally, you must know that.”

“Yes, I do,” Stannis replied solemnly. “Not that I’ve done much to deserve it.”

“You’re her father. Isn’t that enough?”

Stannis didn’t reply, walking around and sitting on the boulder. He motioned for Jon to do the same, so Jon followed suit and dug his heels into the sand. Ghost took off into the sea. They sat there for a while, watching the sun move across the sky.

“Having a name doesn’t solve all of your problems, you know,” began Stannis. “Being trueborn doesn’t stop those close to you from treating you like a bastard.”

Jon looked at Stannis, noting the tension in his shoulders and the hard lines of his face. He wasn’t grinding his teeth, though, which Jon took as a good sign. Jon thought on Stannis’ words, recognizing the truth in them and realizing where Stannis’ irritation at his shame in Snow stemmed from. Having a prominent surname hadn’t given Stannis everything he wanted. Jon wondered if Stannis would’ve had a loving family had his parents not died, and he also pondered which brother was the cause of the problems between the Baratheons. _Likely all of them are at fault in some way or another._

Another thought struck him, going back to the words before their argument and the weeks before when Stannis let Jon read the unwieldy lineage book.

“You trusted me.”

“Was I wrong to? Will you do something reckless like run and tell Cersei that you know her secret?”

Jon shook his head. “I don’t have a death wish. Am I the only one who knows?”

“You’re the only one I’ve told. Other than Jon Arryn, of course. I will let Ser Davos into my confidences soon enough, and then decide how to proceed from there.”

“Go to Storm’s End. Tell Lord Renly about the incest in person.”

Stannis narrowed his eyes, but his voice remained steady. “Immediately?”

“Why not? As you said, all of Westeros will have to know eventually, and if your brothers aren’t your greatest allies, House Baratheon has no business sitting on the Iron Throne. However much you might…” Jon searched for a suitable word. _Hate_ immediate came to mind, but it was too strong and severe a word, even for Stannis. And Jon didn’t think that Stannis really hated his brothers, just like he didn’t really _hate_ Lady Stark. “However much you might _dislike_ your brothers, surely you dislike the Lannisters more.”

Stannis gave a small nod of agreement, and then he asked Jon a strange question.

“Do you think I want to be king? Should Robert never have any trueborn children?”

_No, you don’t,_ was the answer that immediately came to Jon’s mind. Stannis seemed content to be Lord of Dragonstone, the unquestioned master of his domain. He knew how to keep his affairs in order and still have time to sail his ships, spend time with his daughter, and relax in the evenings in the company of those he trusted. _And me. He’s taken the time to teach me._ Being king would force more responsibility onto Stannis’ shoulders, which he could certainly handle, but the court was another matter. If he could barely get through a feast at Winterfell, Jon doubted that Stannis could suffer through the pageantry expected of a king. And all those asking for favors and plotting to steal a bigger slice of power—he couldn’t imagine Stannis _wanting_ that. But the power that came with being a king…father always said that power changed a man. Stannis could rewrite the laws he felt unfair and scour the court of untrustworthy snakes, and who would oppose him so long as he wasn’t Maegor the Cruel or Mad King Aerys?

“I don’t know, my lord,” said Jon with a small shake of his head.

“Fair answer. I have no desire to be king, nor do I desire glory. The Iron Throne is not a _comfortable_ seat, and a man can never be at ease there. But if something unfortunate were to befall Robert, I would take up the crown out of duty. Duty always takes precedent over wants.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Stannis met his gaze and held it, blue eyes against grey.

“Your opinion matters to me. There will be trying times ahead, and I would not wish for you to think me a petty, power hungry lord who only cares about titles for titles’ sake. Some will say that I’m fabricating the incest story to justify a rebellion.”

“I would never think that about you. Though I do think you care about justice for justice’s sake.”

Stannis’ mouth twitched, though he didn’t break eye contact.

“Whatever help I can give you, my lord, it’s yours.”

No more words were needed after that, and the pair of them simply sat in silence and watched the sun set.

~

Renly was delighted to host Stannis at Storm’s End. At least that’s what his maester wrote in a letter. It was still stifling hot in King’s Landing, so the Master of Laws and Lord of Storm’s End saw fit to retreat to the Stormlands with his knights and retainers in tow for some fresh air and good hunting. Stannis rolled his eyes at the rest of the letter.

Stannis wondered how Renly would take the news about the incest. He was harder to predict than Robert and took things even less seriously. Would he believe it? Would he agree to call his banners if the occasion arose? If so, then Renly would likely want to involve the Tyrells, promising them something extravagant. _Let it be anything but the ladyship of Storm’s End._ It aggravated Stannis to no end that his little brother was consorting with the very family that had tried its hardest to starve him to death. However, as long as he didn’t have to break bread with Mace Tyrell, their swords might prove useful.

Preparations for the journey were quick and easy to make. Stannis wasn’t going to take his _Fury_ , as the ship was too big and unfit for the rocky coastline of the Stormlands. Especially Shipbreaker Bay. His wife and daughter were to stay on Dragonstone with Ser Davos, for should anything befall him he wished for his family to be under the eyes of someone he had faith in. And that was not Dragonstone’s castellan Ser Axell Florent.

Selyse didn’t think anything unusual was going on. She often stayed on Dragonstone when Stannis sailed to King’s Landing. Stannis had decided against telling Selyse the truth of the royal children for the moment. It would be like telling a stranger, despite the fact that she had been his wife for close to twelve years. He also didn’t particularly want to talk to her, apart from the expected well wishes for a journey.

Selyse had other ideas, however.

A fortnight before Stannis was to set sail, she paid him an evening visit in his chambers.

“You should take Shireen with you to Storm’s End.”

“Not this time.” _I want her safe here._ “She’ll have many opportunities in the future.”

“You should start taking her to visit your bannermen, and the next time you travel to the Red Keep she should accompany you. She’d seen ten namedays and is old enough to start learning about your duties as Lord of Dragonstone. Not just Jon Snow.”

Stannis was about to agree with his wife’s assessment of Shireen, but her last words and the bitter way she said them gave him pause.

“What does Jon have to do with anything?”

“You like talking to him.”

“So?” replied Stannis, nonplussed. “What does that prove?”

“You speak at length with Maester Cressen and Ser Davos. Everyone else you speak to no more than you have to.”

“How else am I supposed to instruct him on the duties of a lord, the politics of the South, and a whole host of other things?”

“He’s only a bastard. What use is it to him if he knows how lords conduct their affairs?”

Stannis narrowed his eyes. “We’ve been over this matter before, Selyse. Jon’s father is the most powerful man in the North, and his brother will be after. He might be granted a holdfast somewhere, advise his brother, or rise to Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch if he decides to take the Black. It is of great use to him to know how the world works outside of Winterfell. Besides, he’s a quick learner and can think as well as he can fight. My dear brother Renly can do neither, yet he’s Lord Paramount of the Stormlands with a seat on the king’s Small Council.”

“He’s not your son.”

Stannis stilled and gripped the arms of his chair. “I know he’s not.”

“Sometimes I think you forget that.”

“He doesn’t look a thing like me.”

“Perhaps. But Jon Snow’s like you in more ways than you’ll ever admit. He’s serious, reserved, and dutiful and loyal to a fault. He resents his lot in life, not that he should expect any more generosity given his station. He even had as much faith in the Seven as you do.” Selyse paused, looking out the window before she continued. “You see yourself in him. Haven’t you always wanted a son like that?”

Stannis ground his teeth. “You you think I should’ve done something differently with him? Jon Arryn taught Robert much the same, knowing he’d be Lord of Storm’s End one day—not that Robert took any of the non-military lessons to heart. I wouldn’t have treated Lord Arryn’s son any differently had he come to foster here as planned.”

“Would you? Robert Arryn is small for his age and hangs onto his mother like a newborn. Not to mention his constant fits and seizures.”

_She’s right,_ Stannis admitted to himself. _If Robert Arryn didn’t grow out of being a child, I would’ve had no patience with him. Much like Renly. He was a sweet boy, but I have no patience or respect for the man he grew to be._

“I’ve tried, you know. Tried very hard to give you a son.”

His wife’s words caught him off guard, even more so than her words about Jon.

“I know you have.”

“I’ve failed in my duty as a wife.”

“Just as much fault lies with me as it does you. We have Shireen, at least. You did not fail me there.”

Selyse didn’t have any reply to that. She folded her hands in her lap. Stannis sighed and ground his teeth again, but not out of anger.

“Doing our…duty in our marriage bed had never been pleasant, and neither of us has ever had any enjoyment in it.” Selyse opened her mouth. A part of Stannis was quite interested to hear what she had to say, to know what empty courtesies she would choose this time. But another, more rational part of him was tired of the lies they had told and the facades that they had worn throughout their marriage. “And if you say anything to the contrary I’ll know that it’s a lie.”

Selyse closed her mouth, staring at him with hard eyes filled with emotions that Stannis couldn’t begin to name. She didn’t say a thing, just as he predicted. He turned away from her and covered his eyes. The silence that followed was deafening, and Stannis couldn’t tell how much time passed before Selyse stood up to leave. _I wish things were different, I truly do. But they aren’t. And it’s no use pretending that they are._

“I take my leave, my lord.”

“Don’t ever say such things about Jon Snow again. Shireen is my daughter and heir, and nothing will ever change that.”

She nodded.

“Goodnight, my lady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter IV
> 
> 1\. _How dangerous could one book_ be _?_
> 
> I highly recommend the Sean Connery film _The Name of the Rose_ , a murder mystery set in a medieval monastery. It involves, among other things, a dangerous library and a book that seems to kill all those who read it. Umberto Eco’s book of the same name _did_ come first, but unfortunately the mystery takes a back seat to unbelievably dry religious and political debates.
> 
>  
> 
> 2\. Lord So and So, son of Lord and Lady So and So, married Lady So and So of House So and So, begat son So and So and daughter So and So… _Not unlike many of the famous epic Valyrian poems._
> 
> In school, I had the pleasure of reading some of the great Western epic poems, like the _Iliad, Odyssey,_ and _Aeneid._ However, many of the battle, feast, and introduction scenes read rather like a lineage of names, which got rather tedious. I’m sure Westeros must have similar literary works…
> 
>  
> 
> 3\. “Lord Stannis,” [Catelyn] asked, “if you knew the queen to be guilty of such monstrous crimes, why did you keep silent?”
> 
> “I did not keep silent,” Stannis declared. “I brought my suspicions to Jon Arryn….My brother’s regard for me was never more than dutiful….From me, such accusations would have seemed peevish and self-serving, a means of placing myself first in the line of succession. I believed Robert would be more disposed to listen if the charges came from Lord Arryn, whom he loved.”
> 
> Catelyn and Stannis, _A Clash of Kings_ Catelyn III
> 
> So there we have it, the reason direct from Stannis’ mouth on why he didn’t directly tell Robert about Cersei and Jaime’s incest. Part of his answer is logical—Stannis wanted to have proof and support from another powerful man before he declared that _he_ was now the rightful heir. But after Jon Arryn was gone, why not tell Ned? Or Renly? Or Robert, damn it all? Aside from narrative reasons by GRRM to essentially keep Stannis out of the story until ACOK, I always believed that Stannis couldn’t get over the complicated personal feelings he harbored toward those men, and he had no one by his side pushing him to do so. If Davos knew about the incest during AGOT, he might be too polite to try and force Stannis to do such a thing, but I imagine that Jon would have no such reservations because he isn’t caught up in the Robert/Renly/Stannis/Ned mess and can see things from an outside perspective.
> 
>  


	5. Storm's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stannis takes Jon to Storm's End, where he meets Renly - and the treacherous waters of Shipbreaker Bay.

Stannis was looking forward to the trip to Storm’s End. At least as far as Jon could tell, for he didn’t catch Stannis frowning or grinding his teeth as the Sea Stag was loaded and pushed off from Dragonstone’s docks. _Fury_ was tied up on another part of the island, for Stannis had decided that such a large ship was not needed for the relatively short journey. And besides, there were no bannermen or pirate lords who he needed to impress.

Lady Selyse and Shireen had come to the docks to make their farewells. Selyse’s mouth was set in a hard line, much like her husband’s as they nodded to each other. If their nods seemed stiffer than usual, well, it wasn’t Jon’s place to ask why. Shireen, however, ran to Jon and gave him a tight hug before putting her arms around Ghost in a similar fashion.

“So who will you miss most, Ghost or me?”

“Ghost, of course.”

Jon pretended to be hurt. “You wound me, my lady.”

Shireen smiled and tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear. “Ghost always does what I tell him to, and he’s always available to play with. Father never has need of him.”

“That can’t be helped,” said Jon, seriously this time. He tentatively reached out a hand and ruffled her hair, like he always did with Arya. Jon was rewarded with a bigger smile than before. Out of the corner of his eye, Jon saw Stannis watching the entire exchange. When he turned to look properly at him, Stannis had already looked away, an unreadable expression on his face.

~

The _Sea Stag_ had almost left Tarth in the distance when the clouds moved in and obscured the sun. Dale Seaworth, who Stannis had chosen to captain the ship for the journey, approached him.

“There’s a storm coming, my lord.”

“We’re in the Stormlands. That’s known to happen.”

“Yes, but the winds are picking up. It’s only a matter of time before the waters become unmanageable. I suggest we take shelter at Evenfall Hall and ride out the storm there. Tarth has a good harbor, and we can get there quite soon.”

“And if we continue on, we can make it to Storm’s End by nightfall, is that correct?” asked Stannis.

“Yes, my lord, but the risk…” insisted Dale.

“Do you think the storm will hit when we’re in Shipbreaker Bay?”

“It’s hard to tell. Storms aren’t common there during the summer.”

 _Correct. They’re most common during winter. When the_ Windproud _crashed, chunks of ice washed up on shore along with the bodies. And Patchface, the poor fool who was the only survivor._ Maester Cressen had tried to shield Stannis and Robert from seeing the bodies of their parents, but Robert had been adamant, roaring that it was his right as the new Lord of Storm’s End. For once, Stannis had agreed with Robert, though he would’ve given anything to erase the images of those days from his mind. 

“My lord?”

Stannis realized that Dale was looking at him expectantly. He noted Jon and his direwolf standing at the prow of the ship. “We will continue on. I thank you for your concerns, captain.”

_Winter may be coming, but it’s not here yet._

~

It took almost all of Jon’s effort to keep his footing on the _Sea Stag’s_ deck. This time there were legitimate reasons to blame for his failings, rather than his general ineptitude for all things sailing compared to experienced sailors such as Ser Davos or Stannis. _Especially_ Stannis. The sea had become terrible, and it was a miracle that the ship was still upright with all the times it had been tossed around. Rain had been falling for hours, but the wind and the waves had truly gotten bad when the ship had entered Shipbreaker Bay.

Jon stumbled as a large wave buffeted the ship, burying his right hand in Ghost’s fur to stop himself from falling over. When he had regained his composure, he noticed Stannis standing next to him, back straight and hands behind his back as if he were safely on solid ground. His eyes were focused on a point in the distance.

“There it is. Sitting on the great cliffs of Durran’s Point.”

Jon followed Stannis’ gaze. There were cliffs out there, and something dark on top of them, but due to the poor light he couldn’t make out much more. “Storm’s End?”

“Yes. One of the greatest castles in all of Westeros, said to have been designed by Brandon the Builder himself. I don’t quite believe it, for the castle is nothing like Winterfell. Still, Storm’s End has never fallen to either storm or siege. We will be there very soon.” There was longing in Stannis’ voice, something that Jon had never heard before.

The _Sea Stag_ gave a sudden lurch, followed by a shout from Dale Seaworth to “Steer clear of those rocks!” Stannis strode off, shouting his own orders about how to maneuver through the treacherous bay and to make for the cavern under the castle.

The weather rapidly got worse. Lightning began to strike, and less than a second passed between each bolt and the following roar of thunder. It illuminated the beach and the sharp boulders scattered around it. It also illuminated Storm’s End, giving Jon his first good view of the place. The stones were as dark as those that made up Dragonstone, but where Dragonstone had stone dragons, Storm’s End had nothing but smooth, circular walls. Ghost’s fur was standing on end due to the lightning, despite the rain.

Suddenly, the world went white and an earsplitting _crack!_ came from the storm clouds above—a bolt of lightning had struck the tall mast of the _Sea Stag_ , momentarily encasing it in white fire. Just as quickly as it came, the light disappeared and was replaced with the sound of a hundred axes, all attacking the mast at once. Jon watched the base splinter in awe and horror, frozen to his spot on the back of the deck. Panicked screams rose from every direction as Jon immediately searched for Stannis. The Lord of Dragonstone was on the starboard side of the deck, his stern face momentarily gone and replaced with one of abject terror. A violent wave slammed into the ship from the left, and Jon knew what was going to happen a split second before it did.

“STANNIS!”

Jon screamed with all the breath he could muster, hoping beyond hope that his voice would carry amid the din of the storm and the rest of the crew. Stannis’ eyes met Jon’s for an instant…right before the mast came falling down, crashing through the first level of the deck, the undone canvas of the sails billowing everywhere. Men were splashing in the water, and there was so much shouting that Jon quickly became deaf to it as his eyes quickly searched for one face that had been directly in the path of the tumbling mast…

Stannis was nowhere to be found, which could only mean one thing. Dale Seaworth was trying his best to bring order to the chaos, which included swiftly assessing whether the ship was taking on water and if it could reach the cavern dock in time. With the captain having more things on his mind than the location of one man, Jon’s mind hit on a decision so impulsive and so reckless that he wasn’t aware that he had made it until he took a running leap through the broken railings and dove into the waters of Shipbreaker Bay.

Everything that he’d ever learned about or been told about swimming immediately left Jon’s mind once he surfaced. It was all he could do to keep his head above water, with the rain pelting down on him and the waves battering at him from all directions. The water was icy cold on top of all that, and the salt was stinging his eyes. Another splash right next to Jon alerted him of Ghost’s presence.

“Ghost!” shouted Jon desperately, inadvertently swallowing a mouthful of seawater. “Help me find him!”

The direwolf didn’t need telling twice, moving through the waves and away from the ship like some sort of savage sea monster. Jon’s hearing suddenly sharpened, and his sense of smell increased a thousand-fold. He cut through the water, trying hard to keep up with Ghost and praying that he found his quarry in time. Floating debris nearly knocked him out more than once, but Jon simply gritted his teeth and continued onward. Jon scented blood as Ghost’s head appeared high above the water, something clasped in his teeth.

Ghost had found Stannis.

 _Get us to safety, Ghost!_ Thought Jon frantically, not having the breath to say it out loud. In no time at all, or perhaps it was a very long time, Jon and his direwolf found themselves dragging Stannis out on the nearest stretch of beach, racing to get above the shoreline. Once there, Jon immediately dropped to his knees. One side of Stannis’ head was a bloody mess, but upon a cursory examination the wound wasn’t terribly large or deep, just bleeding like the seven hells. Jon’s hands were trembling uncontrollably as he felt for evidence of a heartbeat—which he found, but he soon realized that Stannis was barely breathing.

 _“Remember, lads, if one of your crewmates falls overboard and isn’t breathing, he can still be saved with the correct and swift action.”_ Davos’ words were now at the forefront of Jon’s mind, as were his lessons at how to save someone from drowning. Maric had teased Jon that he better keep his head above water during their frequent swims, or else the girl he had his eye on would never forgive him. It had seemed so funny then, when Jon reassured Maric that there would be someone older and more experienced to around to save him from the embarrassment. Now there was no one else around. And Ghost didn’t count, for Ghost was a part of him.

Jon was still shaking as he carried out Davos’ instructions, ignoring the wind and the rain and the cold. But nothing was happening.

“Wake up, gods wake up!” he repeated over and over again, pressing on Stannis’ chest and giving him more air. Ghost’s head was resting on his paws, tail down and a mournful look in his blood-red eyes. Stannis remained still, as still as Bran had been during Jon’s last morning in Winterfell.

“No,” whispered Jon in a strangled voice. He didn’t know what else to do, what other possible measures he could take, what other ways to…

With a jolt, Stannis let out a hacking cough, turning over onto his hands and knees and retching up seawater. There were moans and curses thrown in as well.

Now gasping for air himself, Jon fell back on the sand, sending up a prayer of thanks to the Old Gods as he closed his eyes in relief.

~

Stannis coughed and coughed, emptying what felt like the entire Narrow Sea onto the sand. To say that his head ached would be a gross understatement, for the pounding was incessant and Would. Not. _Stop._ He slowly got to his feet, wondering where in the seven hells he was. The last thing he remembered was a flash of lightning falling from the sky, followed by various screams that still rang in his ears. Stannis’ vision suddenly swam, and he would likely have fallen over from dizziness had not someone thrown their arms around him and buried their face in his neck.

“Stannis…you’re alive…I thought when the lightning and the mast…” Stannis immediately recognized Jon’s voice, breathless and desperate. “The waves…you were barely breathing…the blood…if it hadn’t been for Ghost…”

Stannis returned the embrace, holding on as tightly to Jon as Jon was to him. Jon’s breathing was erratic and coming in gasps, almost as if he was... _He’s exhausted. He’s too old to do something foolish like cry._ Stannis put a hand on the back of Jon’s head, steadying himself. Stannis looked around the bay, seeing no sign of his ship and more importantly not hearing any screams. _It must have reached Storm’s End’s dock by now, and it appears that Dale Seaworth can keep his head in crisis much like his father._

The rain was still falling, and Stannis could taste blood in his mouth. _So that explains the monstrous headache._ Head wounds always bled profusely and too many were fatal, but given that he still had use of all of his senses, Stannis believed that the worst was past. Jon was still shaking in his arms, and Stannis began to piece together what must have happened to put the young man in such a state. Glancing down, he also saw the direwolf’s white snout pressing against his hip, his ears pressed back as if he too had just been mourning something. _Or someone._

“I’m still here, Jon,” whispered Stannis. “I’m still here.”

~

Renly looked like King Robert must have looked fifteen years ago—tall and trim with neatly cropped black hair. His was dressed in silks and velvets edged with cloth of gold. The weave of the fabrics was so rich that Jon felt like a commoner in his plain leather jerkin and woolen breeches. Even his grey and white cloak, the finest piece of clothing that Jon had ever owned, seemed poor in comparison. Not to mention that it was soaking wet.

“What in gods’ name happened out there? Stannis, you look like someone took an axe to your head but failed to kill you, and your…” Renly looked quizzically at Jon.

“You need better informants, Renly, or else you would know that my ship is nearly in pieces but my entire crew is accounted for,” said Stannis curtly. He was back to his usual self, and Jon wondered if Stannis would ever revisit what happened on the beach with anyone. Including himself. “This is Jon Snow, Eddard Stark’s son. My squire.”

“I was going to say that your squire looked like a drowned rat, but drowned direwolf is more appropriate.”

“We have a drowned direwolf as well.” Ghost chose that moment to fluff out his fur, sending water droplets everywhere. Renly took a step back, his eyes wide. “As much as I would like to banter pleasantries with you, I am in no fit state to do so. I will retire to my rooms and see you later.”

“My maester will be waiting for you, then.”

“I have no need of a maester. I’m still breathing, aren’t I?”

“Sadly, yes. But I must act the gracious host, for Robert would never forgive me if you bled out in the safe confines of Storm’s End. And you’re welcome!” called Renly as Stannis walked past him.

“For what?” Stannis turned back.

“For preparing your favorite rooms here, of course! And for having warm mulled wine sent to your chambers, for the drink will surely do you some good. In more ways than one.”

Stannis opened his mouth to object, but Jon cut in, bowing low. “I thank you, Lord Renly. I apologize for this short introduction, but many on the ship nearly drowned when lightning struck the mast. The mulled wine is welcome.”

Stannis glared at him, but Jon glared right back. Renly looked back and forth between them and raised his eyebrows, an interested look on his face.

“Apology accepted, Jon. I look forward to making your acquaintance on the morrow, and don’t hesitate to ask my servants if you need anything.”

“Some dry clothes and roaring fireplaces would be most appreciated.”

~

Stannis reached his rooms, the same rooms he’d had as a boy. They had windows facing the sea, and the ever present sound of waves crashing against the rocks below had always calmed him. They were made up as Renly has promised, and a carafe of wine was sitting on a tray along with goblets and a loaf of bread. Stannis had no appetite, so he walked to one of the windows and rested his hands on the stone sill. Jon and his wolf only followed him in when Stannis motioned to one of the chairs, which he took gratefully after hanging his dripping cloak by the newly made fire. Exhaustion was clearly written on his face.

“Your courtesy is wasted on Renly. Indulge him and he’ll walk all over you, as I’ve known his whole life.”

“Harmless courtesies are better than biting insults,” countered Jon, sighing and pushing his dark hair back from his grey eyes. “I’m not his brother or close friend, so making a good first impression is vital. Especially with the surname Snow.”

_Is he still concerned about his surname? I’ve told him again and again that it matters not to me. Besides, I distrust men who openly flatter me for no apparent reason._

As if Jon could guess Stannis’ thoughts, he said quietly: “Not all men are like you.”

The logs in the fireplace crackled.

“Stay.”

“What?”

 _Davos would implicitly know why I was asking, and he would rarely demand an explanation. If I don’t want to be alone, I want to be around those I trust._ Stannis thought back to the beach. Shireen had previously been the only person to have embraced him in such a fashion, ever since his parents had left on their fateful voyage…His vision then swam and the pounding in his head returned. “In case I get drunk and do something foolish.”

“You don’t _have_ to drink it.”

“The maester will force it down my throat regardless when he sees to my head. If the wound looks as bad as it feels…”

“It does. Renly wasn’t exaggerating.”

“Then I’ll have a headache from _both_ the wound and the wine tomorrow.”

“Well, life is cruel,” said Jon with a straight face. There was no hint of a grin, leaving Stannis with no doubt that he was serious.

“Yes, Jon Snow, yes it is. But this is certainly better than the alternative, don’t you think?”

~

Stannis and Renly were closeted in discussion the entire next day, and would likely do so for many days to come. Jon knew exactly what they were talking about, but the rest of Storm’s End did not. This perturbed Ser Loras Tyrell, who Renly had charged with showing Jon around the castle. As Jon admired the workmanship and tapestries of fighting stags, he learned much about Highgarden, its beauty, its extensive rose gardens, its masquerade dances, and its famed tournaments. Highgarden was a wonderful place to be in the summer, apparently, and even in winter it was never as bleak as Storm’s End! _If you think Storm’s End bleak, Ser, what would you think of Winterfell?_ Jon politely took his leave from Ser Loras after being shown the armory, escaping to the docks where Dale Seaworth and his crew were assessing the costly damages to the _Sea Stag_.

Renly had a boisterous look on his face all throughout the evening meal, a sharp contrast to the dark looks that Ser Davos and Maester Cressen had worn when Stannis had revealed the same truth to them. In fact, the young Lord of Storm’s End was in such good spirits that he didn’t notice Stannis scowling as each course was served and not touching the glass of sweet summerwine set in front of him. Stannis also didn’t bother to make any excuses as he left the table before the pudding was served. Renly simply shrugged at that, urging Jon to stay and have another glass of wine.

“You aren’t on Dragonstone, boy, and I won’t punish you for having a drink. Tell me, along with whores, has my brother tried to prohibit smiling on his island?”

“No, my lord,” said Jon, bewildered as Renly and Ser Loras turned and shared a laugh with each other. He decided that he too was done with the meal, though as he pushed his chair in Jon told Renly that he needed to check on his wolf. Ghost was soundly sleeping by a fireplace, but that small detail didn’t need to be shared.

Jon found Stannis at the top of Storm’s End’s highest tower, hands behind his back. As expected, he was looking toward the sea with a faraway look on his face. He made no movement as Jon approached, save for a slight nod of his head. There was a spectacular view from this part of the castle, and the sea looked like it stretched on forever. The sun had long since set and given way to the moon, but Jon predicted that the sunrise would certainly be a sight worth seeing.

Stannis eventually began speaking, and his voice was laced with bitterness and disbelief.

“Renly took my shocking revelations about the royal children in stride. He even clapped his hands together like an excited child at one point, if I recall correctly. Renly has been plotting to replace Cersei as queen with Mace Tyrell’s daughter for quite some time, which is disturbing in and of itself, but he barely listened to the evidence I had so carefully collected in his eagerness to start planning a war! _How_ he thinks a Tyrell queen will help him…” Stannis kept listing his many grievances against Renly.

“At least Lord Renly believes you. He seemed pleased tonight,” said Jon finally, once Stannis had talked himself into silence.

“Of course he’s pleased. He might get to fight in a battle!”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Only men who have never seen war actively look forward to it, my brother Robert excepted. The songs always sing about the chivalrous knight taking down his evil foe, but they never make mention of the carnage on a battlefield, the screams of men dying and calling for their mothers, or how it feels to slowly starve to death in a castle under siege.”

Jon frowned.

“You’re a famed battle commander.”

“Am I?”

“My father said that the Greyjoy Rebellion would’ve been lost if you hadn’t destroyed Victarion Greyjoy’s fleet at Fair Isle.”

Stannis’ frustration seemed to ebb. “He has the right of it, though unfortunately history won’t remember it that way. Robert storming Pyke will be the only thing that mattered.”

“I thought you didn’t care about glory.”

“I care about _accuracy_ and the right men getting their due. That insolent tongue of yours will get you into trouble one day.”

Jon gave Stannis a crooked grin as he continued to speak.

“War is a necessary tool. I held Storm’s End against the power of the Reach because it was my duty to defend my home against an enemy who would’ve destroyed us all. I took Dragonstone from the last Targaryens because Robert asked it of me. I led the Royal Fleet in the Greyjoy Rebellion because it was expected of the Master of Ships. Duty…”

“Should always take precedent over wants,” finished Jon.

Stannis nodded in approval, and an odd look passed across his face. _Pride?_ But the look was fleeting and Stannis quickly changed the topic.

“What do you think of Loras Tyrell?”

“He’s a fool. And he likely thinks me a solemn, uncultured northman in return.”

“Oh?” Stannis seemed amused. “How did you make such flattering first impressions?”

“Ser Loras showed me around the castle, but he was most interested in showing me his armor. I’ve never seen such…” Jon searched for the right word. “ _Intricate_ armor in my life. It’s silver-plated and covered in jeweled flowers. How it will protect him in battle, I have no idea. Loras also talked at length about jousting, and you should’ve seen the look he gave me when I confessed to never having seen a joust in my life.”

A fortnight later, Jon found himself in the same place with Stannis, standing on his right and watching the sea from the highest tower of Storm’s End. The _Sea Stag’s_ repairs were almost complete, despite Renly’s insistences that Stannis give it up as lost and take another ship back to Dragonstone. Stannis had bristled at that, but his reply was civil—if dripping with aggravation. In fact, Stannis and Renly had been nothing _but_ civil the entire visit, which was nothing short of a miracle according to Stannis.

“We both need each other for any kind of plan to work,” Stannis admitted to Jon, grinding his teeth for the umpteenth time that day. “And Robert, of course, for both of us agree that his rule and his life should be protected at all costs. Renly might be able to field a larger army than me, but I currently control the Royal Fleet and the only approach to King’s Landing by sea.”

“Have you both decided when you’ll tell the king?”

“Renly suggested that you tell Robert about Cersei’s treasons.”

“Me?” stammered Jon in surprise. “But…I don’t think…King Robert likely has no idea who I even am!”

“You look exactly like your father, and Robert will believe anything from his dear friend Eddard Stark.”

“That’s still a terrible plan,” persisted Jon. _Just because the king holds my father in high esteem doesn’t mean that he’ll see me in the same light!_

“I told Renly as much,” agreed Stannis. “He dropped the matter. As it stands, Renly will march his armies toward King’s Landing, my ships will surround the city by sea, and Lord Estermont will have control of the City Watch. He replaced the corrupt commander Janos Slynt with his son Ser Eldon per my suggestion. _Then_ Robert will be told. Tywin Lannister is then welcome to fight his way through to rescue his children from the Red Keep’s black cells, if they haven’t already been tried and justly punished.”

Stannis closed his eyes and rubbed at his head. The maester had only recently removed the bandages from his wound suffered in Shipbreaker Bay. Jon guessed that Stannis would have a ghastly scar, made even worse by the fact that he barely had any black hair left on his head to hide it. Overall, the trip to Storm’s End had been visibly draining to Stannis, and Jon couldn’t quite put his finger on why. It wasn’t the war plans or the near shipwreck, strangely, which left Renly and his carefree attitude. But Renly couldn’t account for the sadness that seemed to show in Stannis’ eyes when he walked around the castle and looked out toward the sea.

“I made an incorrect assumption about you, my lord.”

Stannis raised his eyebrows.

“I used to think you were content to be the Lord of Dragonstone. But after watching you walk around this castle, and the look on your face when the _Sea Stag_ approached it, I realize that I was wrong. You love this place.”

“My love for Dragonstone isn’t obvious?”

 _As obvious as your love for your brothers. Unless I’m misinterpreting phrases like ‘pile of rocks.’_ “No one bothers you there, at least,” answered Jon with a shrug.

Stannis paced up and down the wall, the edges of his gold cloak flapping in the wind. “Perhaps. But being bothered by the needs of his lands and his people is a sacrifice a good lord should willingly make. Storm’s End is where I was born, where I grew up, and where I always hoped to make my home.”

 _He’s always wanted to be Lord of Storm’s End. Even more than I’ve wanted to be Lord of Winterfell._ As a young boy, Jon had harbored dreams of father placing Ice in his hands, declaring him a true Stark and the future Lord of Winterfell. They were shameful dreams, certainly, for as long as his brothers and sisters drew breath he had no right to the castle. And Jon would never be such a man to wish death upon his siblings to steal their birthright. With Stannis, though, he _did_ have the birthright, yet due to poor decisions by King Robert, Stannis was denied it all the same.

Interrupting Jon’s thoughts, Stannis cut in: “It’s no use thinking about what could’ve been or what should’ve been.”

Jon held his tongue. _What about your grievances with your brothers? You think on those often enough._

“Do you know how my lord father and lady mother died?”

Jon looked at Stannis warily, wondering where this conversation was going. This wind was blowing, and he could smell the salt from the sea.

“Maester Cressen told me that they drowned in Shipbreaker Bay.”

“Did he tell you that their ship crashed within sight of Storm’s End? Or that I was standing on this very tower when the ship went down, and the screams that went with it?”

Jon’s eyes now went wide with shock, and everything about Stannis and Storm’s End seemed to fall into place. Not only was the castle the only place in Westeros Stannis had ever felt at home, a home he’d nearly died to protect, but it was also where Stannis had experienced the greatest tragedy of his life. Jon had neither fought in a battle nor seen the horrors of war, but he couldn’t fathom anything that could be worse than watching the deaths of those he loved—and being helpless to stop it.

Stannis was still looking at the sea, and his eyes matched the color of it. “You saved me from their fate. I haven’t thanked you yet.”

“I was just doing my duty.”

“I wouldn’t have expected anything less from you.” With that, Jon suddenly felt Stannis’ right hand on his back, hesitantly moving to grasp his right shoulder. The tips of Stannis’ fingers dug into Jon’s collarbone and shoulder blade, as if he were afraid that Jon would disappear. Jon stayed where he was, slowly turning his head to look from the hand to Stannis’ face. Stannis was staring at him intently, and Jon didn’t know what else to do except give a genuine and sincere smile in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter V
> 
> 1\. “War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all; but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend: [Minas Tirith] the city of the Men of Númenor….”
> 
> Faramir, _Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers,_ The Window on the West
> 
> Faramir is one of my favorite literary characters of all time, and the quote explains his and Tolkien’s philosophy of war. Faramir also goes on to say how he feels that society constantly glorifying warriors and loving war is a sign of decay (too bad Peter Jackson forgot to read this part of _The Lord of the Rings_ when he made his films). Though Stannis never specifically gives his views on war, I believe it’s correct to say that he doesn’t lust for battle the same way that Robert does. Being a pragmatic and practical man, Stannis sees the necessity in war when diplomatic avenues fail or the opposition simply can’t be reasoned with. As well, he's arguably the best military commander up to this point in the ASOIAF series. But I can’t see him loving war in and of itself.
> 
>    
> 2\. “In truth, the young lord commander and her king and more in common than either one would ever be willing to admit…Both men were unbelievers by nature, mistrustful, suspicious. Stannis had been a younger son living in the shadow of his elder brother, just as Jon Snow, bastard-born, had always been eclipsed by his trueborn sibling, the fallen hero men had called the Young Wolf. _**The only gods they truly worshiped were honor and duty.**_ ”
> 
> Melisandre, _A Dance with Dragons_ Melisandre I
> 
> Emphasis mine. I mention this quote here because having Jon repeat Stannis’ phrase of “Duty should always take precedent over wants” in this story is about more than him being able to recall Stannis’ words. He really _believes_ them, and Jon’s actions in ADWD show that he’s internalized such an idea. And how many people read Jon’s thoughts in ADWD of “A Lord Commander has no friends…” without thinking of Stannis’ lines of “Kings have no friends…” ?
> 
> As much as I distrust Melisandre, she _is_ the only POV character who has interacted with both Stannis and Jon enough to make a rather objective observation about them. I emphasized her last sentence because it really gets at the heart of who they are, and I essentially see Jon as Stannis-with-more-compassion.
> 
>  


	6. The Knight of Dragonstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stannis rewards Jon and thinks of future wars to come.

Dragonstone was exactly the same as when Jon has last left it. No, that was incorrect. The island itself looked exactly the same, and the castle with its ferocious stone dragons was as dark and forbidding as ever. It was the mood that had changed. Along with Ser Davos and Maester Cressen, those close and unquestionably loyal to Stannis were told the truth of the royal children. Everyone else was simply informed that a threat to King Robert and the realm had been discovered, and that naval involvement was likely to occur sooner rather than later. Potential spies were sniffed out, and no ship that landed on Dragonstone was allowed to leave without Stannis’ personal permission. Lady Selyse spent even more time in the sept, lighting candles in groups of seven and urging her husband to join her. He never did.

During the week that Jon returned, he noticed Stannis spending an unusual amount of time in the armory conversing with the castle smith. Jon wondered if Stannis was taking stock of weapons or something of the sort, but when asked he only glared and refused to say a word. Soon, though, the reason for Stannis’ secrecy became clear.

On an afternoon that was unremarkable in all other ways, Jon made his way to Stannis’ solar to find him pacing back and forth behind his desk, hands behind his back and jaw clenched. For some reason he had chosen to wear his fine black and cloth of gold cloak, which Jon only saw when Stannis was trying to impress someone of his status. Jon was directed to the usual chair in front of the desk. Ghost silently followed.

“I have something for you,” announced Stannis without any preamble. He reached down and placed a sword sheathed in a black metal scabbard on the middle of the desk. The scabbard was plain with no kind of adornment, but the sword’s pommel was a different story. A wolf carved out of white marble adorned it, and its eyes were the same red as Ghost’s. Jon looked between the pommel and Ghost and then back to Stannis.

“May I?”

Stannis waved a hand, and Jon carefully drew the sword. It was exceptionally well made, sharper and lighter than the kind of weapon an ordinary man-at-arms would carry. It fit well in his hands, and only then did Jon catch that this one was a hand-and-a-halfer, a bastard sword. Jon wondered if Stannis was aware of the irony in that. Knowing Stannis, he likely was.

“This sword once belonged to my father, and it has seen many a fight. It’s not Valyrian steel, but you’ll be hard pressed to find finer workmanship in all of the Seven Kingdoms. The blade is tapered to cut as well as thrust, and while it’s longer than the swords you’re accustomed to using, you should grow into it over the next few years.”

“Does the sword have a name, my lord?”

“Clash. It’s what one calls a group of stags, or perhaps the sound of two stags fighting with their antlers. There used to be a golden stag on the pommel, but I thought a white wolf would be more appropriate for you. Regardless, it’s likely a poor name for a direwolf sword.” Stannis paused, looking Jon up and down, his eyes moving toward Ghost. “Or a direwolf with a sword.”

“Clash is a fine name. Wolves have teeth and claws that can make such a sound.”

Stannis seemed mildly pleased by that.

“You wouldn’t keep such a sword for yourself?”

“I have my own sword as you well know, forged to match my height and reach. Robert always preferred fighting with war hammers, and Renly is drawn to gaudier things. Jewel encrusted pommels, gold-plated scabbards, things of the like. I had hoped one day to pass this sword on to one of my sons, but…” Stannis fell silent, looking at the sword with a strange expression on his face. “Such an opportunity has not yet occurred.”

_He’s giving me his son’s sword. Or a sword that he wishes he could give to a son._

“Why?”

“Why what?” asked Stannis sharply.

Jon rephrased his question. “What have I done to deserve such a magnificent sword, my lord?”

“Every knight in my service should have a proper sword.” Jon stilled, and his hands clenched around the pommel as Stannis continued in the same, dry tone. “Or whatever tools best fit his talents, which is why Ser Davos has a ship of his own.”

“A knight in your service? But I’m not a knight,” said Jon, taken aback.

Stannis now looked irritated. “You’re capable of kneeling, aren’t you?”

Jon gawked at him, an incredulous expression on his face. _Perhaps many years from now, when you’ve proven yourself worthy, Lord Stannis will grant you a knighthood._ Father had told him that at Winterfell, and while Jon had always hoped that such a thing would come to pass, he never expected it to happen so soon or with so little…ceremony.

“I haven’t done anything worthy of such an honor. I’ve never killed a man or performed great deeds in battle.”

“Do you think being a knight is only about battles and fighting?”

Jon was silent.

“Do you?” insisted Stannis, his voice becoming hard. Jon shook his head. “Every knight takes vows to defend the innocent, protect the weak, and stay loyal to his liege lord. Bloodshed need not enter into the equation, though it usually does. Gifting a barrel of onions and salt fish to a starving man is just as _chivalrous_ as defeating the man who kidnapped and raped your betrothed. Or perhaps as chivalrous as saving your lord from drowning during a terrible storm.”

“You already thanked me for that,” stated Jon quietly. Stannis acted like he hadn’t heard him.

“A knighthood’s a small payment for a life. You’re young and still have many things yet to learn, but you didn’t hesitate to act when the need arose. You’ve proven to me that you can think sensibly, and unlike other young knights you’ve met, you realize that there are more important things than fancy armor. Perhaps if my parents had such a man in their service the day the Windproud sank, they would be alive today.”

Jon knew that he still must be gawking at Stannis, though from a completely different reason than before. _Stannis Baratheon thinks that I’m worthy of a knighthood. Sure, he also said that I’m young and inexperienced in the same breath, but that’s not entirely untrue._ Over the past year he had tried his best to be dutiful and obey Stannis as father had instructed him, but along the way Jon realized that Stannis’ opinion of him mattered just as much. He had come to value Stannis’ rare nods of approval just as much as father’s rare moments of praise. Stannis was like father in many ways, but in many ways he wasn’t. _Including the way he speaks to me. We both know that he is and will always be the lord in this relationship, but he trusts me and respects what I have to say, almost as if we’re equals._

“Will you kneel, Jon Snow? Or will you continue to question my judgment?”

Stannis’ eyes were still on him, and Jon understood that there was only one answer that he could give. But this time it was _truly_ his choice. Clash was still in Jon’s hands as he walked over to Stannis and placed the sword at his lord’s feet. Ghost padded over and sat before the sword, his head bowed respectfully. There was nothing left for Jon to do but to follow suit, getting down on one knee and inclining his head.

~

When Jon closed the door behind him and his wolf, Stannis opened a raven from Robert that had just arrived that morning. That in and of itself was odd, for usually Robert left all business concerning the running of the kingdom to his Lord Hand and the other members of the Small Council. Stannis broke the seal and scanned the short letter. It was written in Robert’s hand, that was certain. The words _Storm’s End, Renly,_ and _Ned Stark_ immediately jumped out at him. So he knew about Stannis travelling to Storm’s End, and the business about Stark…

_Is your wife with child again yet? We discussed the matter at Winterfell._

When had Stannis ever shared such personal matters with Robert? And at Ned Stark’s castle especially? Stannis racked his brain, finally remembering Robert’s inane conversation during the hunt…

_Besides, Stannis doesn’t have any sons of his own. Perhaps the presence of a young man on his miserable island will finally show him the way to his wife’s bed!_

Robert’s letter immediately found itself crumpled in Stannis’ hands. He had many things he would like to say to Robert about the begetting of children, and Robert was in _no_ position to lecture him about trueborn heirs. Stannis glanced around his desk, noting a stack of recent correspondence. A parchment with a white direwolf seal was on top, bearing Stark’s latest well wishes to Jon. He looked back and forth between that and the ball in his hands.

With a sigh, Stannis threw Robert’s letter into the fireplace and shoved Stark’s letter to the bottom of its pile.

~

Jon immediately knew what his first act as a knight, a _true_ knight should be: tell Shireen and show her his sword. At Winterfell he would’ve gone to Arya first, even before Robb, for there was no sense of competition with her. And Arya never failed to make him smile.

Shireen was on her favorite stretch of beach, skipping stones into the water. She had become quite good at it, and her blue eyes screwed up in concentration every time she let a stone fly. Her black hair was neatly tied back in a long braid, which unfortunately emphasized the grey, dead patches of skin on her right cheek and neck. Ghost loped toward her, tugging at the hem of her dress and demanding attention.

“Have you come to show it to me?” asked Shireen, ruffling Ghost’s fur and not looking at Jon.

“The sword?”

“Of course! What else would I be asking about?” Shireen met his eyes, a mischievous grin slowly forming on her face.

“You knew,” Jon accused her.

“Father doesn’t tell you everything, Ser Jon.”

_I’m certainly aware of that. But in most cases Stannis has a right to his secrets, just as I do mine._

Jon drew Clash from its scabbard, admiring the way the sun reflected off the blade and made the red garnets of the direwolf eyes shine.

“May I hold it?”

“I doubt you could lift Clash, my lady, let alone swing it.”

“Can I try?”

Jon shrugged, deciding to humor her. Lady Selyse would be horrified by such a thing, and Stannis would likely frown but not entirely disapprove. While it might not be proper for a lady to wield swords, the reality of how heavy and deadly they were was important to know. Jon stood behind Shireen and placed Clash in her hands, positioning them on the hilt and telling her how to hold her arms and arrange her feet.

“I’m Visenya Targaryen, with Dark Sister!”

“Well,” said Jon, moving away from her and picking up a long piece of driftwood, “I’m Torrhen Stark, with Ice!”

“Torrhen Stark bent the knee to _Aegon_ Targaryen, not Visenya. You should be Sharra Arryn, and she didn’t wield a famous sword.”

Jon groaned. “I thought your father was the only one who cared about historical accuracy!”

“I _am_ descended from the Targaryens. Perhaps one day I’ll have a dragon just like you have a direwolf, and it will eat all the stone dragons on Dragonstone for me!” With that, Shireen tried to swing the sword, but the tip just plummeted into the sand. She wrenched it free and tried again with the same success. Disappointment showed on her face, but Shireen didn’t seem too upset as Jon took Clash from her and resheathed it—a far cry from the sad little girl he had met well over a year ago. Jon liked to think that he and Ghost had played some role in her transformation, for she was noticeably less shy and relied less on her fool.

“Not your weapon of choice, my lady,” professed Jon. He wondered if Arya had made any progress with Needle. Her short messages to him had made mention of dancing lessons, but Jon had a hard time imagining his wild little sister enjoying the same courtly dances that Sansa did.

“That’s okay,” replied Shireen with a shrug. “Will you stay here? On Dragonstone?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, now that you’re a knight, wouldn’t you rather travel Westeros and have adventures? Or go back to Winterfell?”

_My life’s been quite an adventure since leaving Winterfell._ Sure, not everything had been easy, but Jon didn’t regret anything that he had done since coming South. It had been good for him to see the world outside of the forested North, from the Bite to Dragonstone to the Crownlands to Storm’s End. And the freezing waters of Shipbreaker Bay. _I’ll always have a place at the Wall, if I want it,_ thought Jon. _And at Winterfell, for I have the blood of the Starks running through my veins. But I’ve_ earned _my place with Stannis Baratheon, and that’s not something to be taken lightly. As he said, I still have much to learn._ And gods did Jon look forward to that.

“I’m here to stay, as long as Lord Stannis will have me.”

~

Stannis was losing patience with Davos, though there was no logical reason for him to. Ser Davos was doing what a loyal knight should always do—tell his lord hard truths, no matter how bitter. If only Cersei and Jaime Lannister hadn’t been so _utterly_ foolish, they would’ve saved the realm many needless deaths. Before Davos had started speaking with him, Stannis had been calmly watching Jon and Shireen from the window of his solar, drinking a glass of lemon water. He had always been able to see that particular beach from his rooms, though he’d never told them. Stannis had no regrets about knighting Jon, and he knew that the new title would not get to the young man’s head but rather serve to make him stronger and shrewder.

“What about the children? Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen?” Davos’ voice continued. “The Lannister twins are guilty of treason of the highest order, but their children are not to blame.”

“I wish they could disappear.”

“How? With the help of a Faceless man?”

Stannis sighed. “I would never stoop so low as to hire an assassin.” Jon was now placing Clash in Shireen’s hands, causing Stannis to frown.

“We know what Tywin Lannister did to cement King Robert’s rule. Will you do the same?” asked Davos pointedly.

Stannis had heard the tales. Little Rhaenys Targaryen had been stabbed half a hundred times, and Aegon had barely been recognizable with his head smashed in. And both of Prince Rhaegar’s children had been presented to Robert by Tywin Lannister in red cloaks, all the better to hide the blood. _Would Robert have loved me better if I had captured Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen and presented them to him in the same way? Would he have granted me Storm’s End?_ “Do you think me capable of murdering innocent children, Davos?”

“Absolute justice doesn’t always protect the innocent.”

_He didn’t say no. What does that say about him, about_ me _?_ Shireen had surrendered the sword back to Jon, deciding that it wasn’t worth the effort. _And it shouldn’t be, as long as she has loyal knights around to protect her._ Davos was staring at him, waiting for a reply.

“I know I must face such hard questions in the future, hard questions with men who do not think and you and I do. But not today.”

Davos easily guessed the source of Stannis’ distraction. _Not like that was hard._ He joined him at the window, and his face softened as he watched Jon and Shireen. Shireen was throwing pieces of driftwood for Ghost to fetch, which he immediately went after. However, whenever Jon threw something, the direwolf just sat and stared at him.

“Was it wise to knight him? When he’s seen only sixteen namedays?”

“I’ve only knighted one other man in my life, Ser Davos. I hope you agree that _that_ was a wise decision.”

Davos looked down at the maimed fingers on his left hand, running his thumb across the nail-less tips.

“Yes. Yes it was.”

“I see much potential in him, as I did and still do in you.”

“You have my loyalty, my lord, always,” said Davos without hesitation. There was no need for him to say anything more.

The two of them stood in silence for some time. Down below, Jon and Shireen had sat down in the sand, with the direwolf curled up faithfully by his master. As Jon reached out a hand to ruffle Shireen’s hair, something deep within Stannis stirred, a feeling that he didn’t quite know what to call or how to describe.

“Davos, would you think any less of me if I wished that Jon was my…” _No, I don’t wish that Jon was my son. Jon wouldn’t be who he is if he wasn’t raised in the North with Eddard Stark as his father, and sometimes I see him as more than a son—if that makes any sense._ “That I had a son like Jon?”

Davos simply smiled and shook his head, placing his maimed hand on Stannis’ shoulder. There were many trials ahead, wars and arguments and suffering, and likely betrayals that would take him unawares despite all of his deliberate planning. As well, winter was always near. But for now, and for one of the first times in his life, Stannis Baratheon was content.

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story continues in [The Knight of Storm's End](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4406963/chapters/10008533%20'). including events such as: Jon getting his first taste of war, Stannis and Robert yelling at each other, Renly trying to play the hero from the songs, and of course, Stannis and Jon moving forward together as lord and loyal knight.
> 
> I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to read this story, leave kudos, and write a comment (especially those who have reviewed ever chapter so far!). I originally wrote this story for an exchange on livejournal, and when I posted it here on AO3 I never expected such a large response to it - certainly compared to my other stories, for in two weeks _The Squire of Dragonstone_ has accumulated more hits, more kudos, and more comments than any of them in the past three years. Stannis certainly isn't the most popular of characters, so I'm glad that so many liked how I wrote him and his interactions with Jon.
> 
> Stannis and Jon are by far my favorite characters in the ASOIAF series, and I've enjoyed how George R. R. Martin has written their interactions in both _A Storm of Swords_ and _A Dance with Dragons_. They have similar personalities and temperaments, with the key difference being that Jon has compassion and was able to grow up in a (largely) loving family. I believe they would work very well together, both in future canon interactions and in an alternate universe setting such as this story. Here's hoping that neither has been killed off at the end of _A Dance with Dragons_ , for if Stannis is truly dead beneath the walls of Winterfell and Jon never recovers from his assassination attempt, I will be both extremely disappointed and angered because I feel they still have an integral role to play in the overall ASOIAF story.
> 
> Many of the comments I've received have asked questions about how the political/royal incest plot would be resolved. The end of this chapter certainly makes clear that it hasn't been resolved, but certain pieces have been moving into place. The original purpose of this story was to focus on how a relationship between Stannis and Jon could develop in a different setting, with the incest plot hanging out in the background. And important place in the background, to be sure. 
> 
> Again, thanks for reading!
> 
> EmynIthilien, 5/24/15


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